


One, two, three

by Severus_divides_into_H



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Angst, Confused Will, Dark, Drama, Hannibal Hunger games, M/M, Minor Character Death, Obsession, Possessive Hannibal, Protective Hannibal, Romance, Smitten Hannibal, Underage - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2018-08-12 09:13:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 67,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7929115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severus_divides_into_H/pseuds/Severus_divides_into_H
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will imagined his death in numerous ways, numerous times. Being chosen as a tribute opened a road of new possibilities, some more horrifying than the others.</p><p>He doesn’t want to be torn to pieces like Randall Tier’s prey. He doesn’t want to be burned like Francis Dolarhyde prefers to kill. But most of all he doesn’t want to be caught by Hannibal Lecter, a career tribute with a penchant for eating his victims alive.</p><p>Too bad Hannibal seems fixated on him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Choosing

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [一，二，三](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14885858) by [lisabart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lisabart/pseuds/lisabart)



> This is a multi-chaptered AU, Hunger Games setting with 'Hannibal' characters. A lot of things from the actual 'Hunger Games' will be changed, I don't intend to follow the events from canon. Basically, it's all about Will and Hannibal falling in love in a place where they are expected to be enemies, with only one winner possible.
> 
> I know there are already several similar stories, but they are either one-shots or abandoned, so I decided to write my own. I think Hannibal would fit perfectly in the Hunger Games universe :D
> 
> For now 12 chapters are planned. However, the number could change in both directions because some chapters might turn out to be longer than the others. 
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy it :)

 

In the world where death was a deity waiting to strike at any moment, Will lost himself in fishing.

His father had died eight months ago, right on Will’s sixteenth birthday, and since then fishing had turned from interest to full-blown obsession. There was no point in going home, no one was waiting there, so more and more often Will climbed the fence and went to the stream, as far from his District as he dared. He lied on the brown, wet sand, staring at the sky for hours, listening to the soft joint melody of birds, water and wind. 

He made his own fishing lures. Will could spend hours wandering around the forest, looking for feathers or shells, reveling in the task as much as in fishing itself. He brought some rusty table spoons from home and made lures from them as well, doubting the fish would be attracted to the dull orange but hoping nonetheless.

In the forest, he didn’t have to speak. Holding his self-made fishing rod, Will closed his eyes and let himself feel.

Freedom. Nature. Peace. Memories of his father, smiling at him and teaching him how to cook, playing with him on the floor of their house while the mandatory TV installed in the room was showing other children and teenagers brutally killing one another.

Will lived in his imagination, leaving reality behind. The pictures were so vivid, so bright that every time he opened his eyes he felt briefly stunned, seeing the grayness of the world around him.          

People in his District Nine were polite yet suspicious of him. They bought his fish, gave him occasional pieces of rubbish that he immediately reconstructed into lures, but the moment his back was turned, they called him weird, and deranged, and infantile.

‘ _He rarely speaks_ ,’ they said. _‘He spends all his time in the forest. God knows what he’s doing there. There is something wrong with him. Just look in his eyes.’_

Will might not have been social, but some part of him longed to be accepted, so every hurtful remark left its scar. It also made his desire to retreat stronger, so forest had become his new home. Mostly.

He missed people, he missed talking sometimes, and while he knew his life was in danger every year, he couldn’t let himself run away for good. Fishing was great, but Will doubted he could eat only fish for the rest of his life. Winters were severe, and the thought of killing forest animals for their fur and meat made him shudder.

He’d killed a small boar, once. It came from nowhere, shrieking and lunging at him, looking half-crazed. For a moment Will was scared, but then… then a feeling more powerful, more intoxicating filled him, and instead of running, he attacked.

He still couldn’t say how he’d managed to kill that boar using his hands only. In the end he found himself covered with blood and scratches, so excited that it was difficult to breathe, feeling triumph, rapture and satisfaction.

It didn’t last long, though. Almost immediately guilt and revulsion overwhelmed him, so Will buried the body, not taking even a piece of it despite his stomach’s loud protests. He decorated the grave with grass and his favorite fishing lures, mourning the life he’d taken, ashamed that he’d enjoyed doing it so much.     

His imagination was a gift — and a curse. Imagining things helped to pass time, but it also meant that Will saw himself dead on more than one occasion. He saw himself swallowed by water, the quiet stream suddenly transforming into enraged, lethal wave. He saw himself torn and eaten by animals that usually stayed away from the District, but sometimes wandered too close.

And of course he imagined himself chosen. He imagined himself a tribute at the Games, competing and irrevocably failing at saving his life.

After those gruesome visions, Will thought he was prepared for everything.   

He was wrong.

 

 

***

 

 

The day of this year’s Choosing ceremony was grim. The thunder threatened to break the sky, the air was thick with impending rain.  

Will was feeling restless. Strange anxiety was coursing through his veins, causing him to shake ever so subtly. Maybe it was from the cold, but maybe, just maybe, something was really going to happen.

“One. Two. Three,” he said slowly, aloud. Hearing his own voice made him feel a little more grounded. 

All people of District Nine from twelve to eighteen could be chosen to participate, but Will’s name was written only five times. Five cards with his name among hundreds — what were the odds?    

“Hey! Hey, Will!” Jimmy Price, the closest thing to a friend Will had, was waving at him frantically. “Come here, let’s stand together.”

A warm feeling enveloped him, and Will, smiling, approached the boy.

“Hi,” he greeted. “You’re okay?”

“As okay as I can possibly be,” Jimmy shuddered and glanced at the empty stage. “Just two more years of this and we can forget about those fucking Games.”

“We won’t forget,” Will said emotionlessly. “Not even after they are cancelled.”

“The Games will never be cancelled,” the bitterness in Jimmy’s voice was unmistakable. “As long as Matthew Brown and future members of his family are elected as Presidents, we will always get chosen and we will always get killed. That family is crazy.”

Will carefully put his hand on Jimmy’s shoulder, wanting to comfort despite the futility of it. Each of the people gathered in front of the stage was stiff and numb with tension, and no gesture, no words would help until the two condemned were chosen.

District Nine had only one winner during long years of its existence. Brian Zeller, who wasn’t the strongest or the smartest, but who’d gotten lucky and won. Will didn’t know him personally, but he remembered the boy Brian had once been. Carefree, joyous and laughing all the time — until the day he’d been taken to the capital.

He’d come back, but Will had never seen him smile again.

“Hello, everyone!” a familiar voice exclaimed, and Will glanced at the stage. Freddie Lounds, the escort for their District, was standing between two large glass balls filled with cards. The expression on her face could only be described as cheerful, and not for the first time Will wondered if it was pretence, or if she was really that shallow, genuinely not seeing hundreds of pale, frightened faces in the crowd beneath.

“I’m happy to announce the start of our Eighty Third Games!” Freddie declared, already gazing at the glass balls. “Let’s hear the anthem first, and then we’ll get to the most exciting part.”

Will closed his eyes, letting his imagination take him far away from this circus. He entered the forest, looked at the stream, glistening blue and silver. A feeling of peace started to slowly soothe his mind, but it was all gone in a blink when he heard, “We’ll start with the girls.”

Reluctantly opening his eyes, Will stared at Freddie who was busy fingering through the cards, choosing which one to grab.

Finally she settled on one of them and brought it to the surface. The silence in the stadium became dead — Will could hear other people’s heartbeats, all accelerated like panicked animals’.

“Reba McClane,” Freddie’s bright voice announced, and initially relieved sights turned into indignant and angry ones when people realized who had been chosen.

Will’s heart clenched painfully in his chest as he watched Reba, small, blind Reba slowly making her way up stage. She was blinking fast, as though hoping to wake up from a nightmare, and tears were already overfilling her eyes, flowing down her cheeks.

“This is a joke,” Will growled, and in the silence his voice sounded so loud that everyone immediately looked at him.

His embarrassment was short-lived, paling in the face of Reba’s suffering. Her pain was so palpable that Will barely kept himself on his feet, aching to help but knowing he couldn’t.

Not fair. It was not fair. _Not fair_. Their District didn’t have many chances as it was, almost no chances at all against career tributes from the first three Districts, who spent their lives training for the Games. They were always the strongest, the cruelest and the deadliest. Reba wouldn’t survive a day on the arena.   

“Here, here,” Freddie muttered, carefully helping Reba get on stage. She was clearly uncomfortable with what’d happened, but there was only small comfort in that.

“Okay,” she said finally, when it became obvious Reba wasn’t going to say a word. “We have our girl, let’s move on to the boys!”

Will clenched his jaw so tight it almost hurt, glaring daggers at the glass ball. When Freddie’s hand grabbed a card, he suddenly knew with absolute clarity whose name was written on it.

“William Graham!” Freddie read, and Jimmy gasped, taking a step back.

For a moment, Will was motionless. Then he slowly moved toward the stage, trying to keep a neutral expression on his face, feeling strangely empty.

Freddie asked him something, he answered, but he couldn’t recall a word. The only thought pulsating in his head was, _‘I didn’t say goodbye’_. To the forest. To the stream. To his house.

He hadn’t said goodbye, and now he never would, because the idea of surviving the Games was ludicrous.  

At some point the numbness dissipated… and blind panic came in its place.

Will was sure his whole body was shaking, but that was all he remembered from his journey to the railway station. Sitting in a place more comfortable than he could ever imagine, he squeezed Reba’s hand tighter, supporting and being supported.

He didn’t look back, but he did whisper ‘ _goodbye_ ’ to the images in his mind. They were all he had left. The images, and Reba.

 

 

***

 

 

“My condolences,” Brian Zeller said the moment he entered the room. Will turned to him, still slow and uncomprehending from shock. “I’m sorry you were chosen, but you can’t change anything now. Both of you are most certainly going to die, so I suggest you accept it and enjoy the food and the luxury you’ll have for this month. You can’t keep your life, but you can die sated.”

Will stared at him.

“That’s an interesting way to look at it,” he finally said. “Why are you so certain we are going to die?”

“Because it’s the truth,” Brian shrugged. “I know who you are. The artistic fisherman and the blind girl. You can’t fight and you are neither strong nor cunning. I’ll do what I can to help you, but you won’t have any sponsors because you are just not interesting enough. Well, you have a pretty face,” Brian nodded at Will, then looked at Reba, “and you will evoke pity in people, but there will be other pretty faces and other sob stories, so you have no chances.”  

“That’s not very encouraging,” Reba murmured, staring unseeingly through the window. “But thank you for honesty.”

“Although you didn’t have to be such an asshole about it,” Will added with contempt. Brian sighed tiredly.

“Last year’s tribute, Clarice,” he said. “She was the one who I thought could really win. She had it all — beauty, brains, stamina. Fate seemed to be on our side, because other tributes, even career ones, were surprisingly weak — it could be a lucky year for our District. I bonded with Clarice, I risked everything. I made deals with rich people, persuading them to place a bet on her. But Clarice died within first twenty seconds of the Games — one of the tributes pushed her and she hit her head. A rock and bad luck, that’s all it took. I stopped hoping after that. Of course you may live for a while — hell, you can probably survive the first day if you take off running instead of fighting for weapons, but in the end? It won’t matter. And it’d be really better if you accepted it now.”  

“I’m not afraid of death,” Will said calmly. Now that the shock was starting to retreat, he managed to find his balance again. “But I’m also not ready to give up that easily.”

“You might change your mind after you see this year’s tributes,” Brian muttered darkly, nodding at the TV. The repeat of the Choosing ceremony was starting, so Will moved to the screen and helped Reba to sit closer.

“I’ll be telling you what I see,” he whispered, and she nodded gratefully.

The footage from District One filled the screen, and Will stared at the smug face of the male escort.

“We’ll start with the guys this year,” he declared. “And… the winner from District One is… Mason Verger.”

 A short, heavily muscled man stepped on the stage, glaring at the cameras so angrily that Will felt unease burning under his skin.

“He looks like a scarecrow,” he told Reba. “I’d never think he was the career tribute.”

Reba laughed shortly, and encouraged, Will took her hand once again.

The female ‘winner’ was a young girl named Beverly Katz. Apart from her coldness, Will couldn’t read anything, so he settled on describing her physical appearance to Reba.

Tributes from District Two, Tobias Budge and Margot Regrev, were both impressive and almost regal. W     ill took his time thinking of how to describe them, not wanting to scare Reba, but unwilling to lie to her.

“They look dangerous,” he said finally, and she nodded, hearing everything he hadn’t said.

Their chances had just diminished.

When Bedelia Du Maurier was chosen as a female tribute of District Three, Will felt unease transforming into nervousness.

“Bedelia looks small and fragile,” he told Reba. “But there is something off about her. Her eyes aren’t dead, but they are… unfeeling. Malicious.”

“I already don’t want to meet her,” Reba remarked. Will wanted to reply, but the ability to speak abandoned him after the name ‘ _Hannibal_ _Lecter’_ sounded and a young man with light brown hair made his way upward. He stopped near the escort and looked at the nearest camera, and the intensity of his stare burned Will through the screen and the distance between them. The aura of this man was dark with the whispers of cruelty, promises of pain, and there was something unearthly, something predatory in his posture. He wasn’t just dangerous — he was deadly.

“I think I got it,” Reba said dryly. “You don’t have to tell.”

“He is very intelligent,” Will murmured softly. “He is capable of calculated violence. He is strong. I don’t think anyone will have many chances against him.”

The screen started to show scenes from District Four, but the cold, amused face of Hannibal Lecter was still in front of Will’s eyes.

The District Four couple turned out to be in love with each other. Jack Сrawford and Phyllis Belles looked like their world was ending, and Will’s heart ached just from looking at them.

“They aren’t vile,” he said to R eba. “They seem like good, kind people. I can’t imagine them killing anyone.”

“If even you can’t imagine it, then probably they are really unable to kill,” Reba mused, and Will chuckled despite the grief he could still feel.

Franklyn Froideveaux and Abigail Hobbs were tributes from District Five, and both of them resembled frightened kids rather than fighters.

District Six was being presented by a business-like girl Kade Prurnell and by a  weird young man named Frederick Chilton.

“He looks like a grasshopper,” Will drawled, and Reba giggled, closing her mouth with her hand.

After Hannibal Lecter other tributes lost the ability to scare Will much, so he watched more or less calmly how Abel Gideon and Alana Bloom were selected in District Seven, and how wild and crazed Francis Dolarhyde and enraged Marissa Schurr took their places in District Eight.

“It’s our turn now,” Will noted, tensing involuntarily when the images of his District started to play.

Reba looked even smaller and more vulnerable, slowly moving toward the stage, afraid, but undefeated. When Will saw himself, he groaned and hit his head against the window, wanting to die from shame.

Could he look any more frightened? Great, just great. He showed himself as pale wide-eyed child, trembling from the fear of being chosen. The only positive moment was when he took Reba’s hand, smiling at her soothingly, but overall? This was his death sentence. No one would take him seriously now.

After that disgrace Randall Tier and Georgia Madchen from District Ten and Garret Jacobs and Chiyoh Murasaki from District Twelve didn’t have much impact on Will, though he took a moment to grieve the fate of brother and sister from District Eleven, Cassie and Nicholas Boyle. How did those things even happen? It was like someone had chosen beforehand which names should be added to the glass balls, because it seemed like too big of coincidence.

“So,” Reba said, after the Ceremony came to an end. “What do you say? No chances?”

“No chances,” Will agreed forlornly. He carefully touched a piece of bread in front of him and inhaled the smell of it deeply, closing his eyes.

The last dull shreds of hope to survive drowned in a merciless ocean of reality, and Will found himself letting go.

Brian was right. They couldn’t win… but they could allow themselves a couple of happy weeks.

He accepted the inevitable truth, and for the first time since the Choosing Will felt free again.


	2. Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for your comments and kudos, I appreciate it so much!

When the night had come, Reba and Brian fell asleep. Will watched them for a while, then stared out of the window, trying to see something through the thick darkness.

He was used to silence at night, so Brian’s quiet snoring and Reba’s sighs disturbed his thoughts, making him unable to concentrate. After almost an hour Will finally had enough.

Carefully, he got up and left the compartment. The moment he closed the door, a profound silence enveloped him and the tension in his body started to subside. Will walked toward the sofa that stood near the vast window and sat on it, amazed at its softness. Here, with no people to distract him, he could finally relax, so Will closed his eyes, listening to the sounds of the train and finding them strangely soothing.

He didn’t know how much time had passed. He drifted in and out of consciousness, not awake but not sleeping either. At one point, when he opened his eyes, he saw a silhouette of someone standing near him.

Blinking, Will tried to focus. His mind worked reluctantly, his imagination still fighting the reality, so it took him some time to understand that what he was seeing was real. There actually _was_ someone standing next to him, and Will startled so badly that he jumped.    

His heart froze in his chest when he realized it was Hannibal Lecter. Hannibal Lecter, a career tribute from District Three, lethal and imposing, was staring at him, and a wave of unbounded fear washed over Will. He couldn’t breathe, his body was still, too panicked to move, so he just stared back helplessly.

“I thought this carriage was only for tributes from my District,” he blurted out. Hannibal raised an eyebrow.

“It is not,” he said. “All tributes share the same carriage.”

“Right,” Will swallowed, wondering if he looked as nervous as he felt. Technically, killing each other before the Games officially started was forbidden, but he had a feeling that Hannibal Lecter didn’t care much about the rules. One wrong move, one wrong word — and Will would end up dead without having his month of happiness.

“May I sit?” Hannibal enquired, so politely that in any other situation Will would have laughed.

“You may,” he answered instead, shifting to the end of the sofa. Hannibal moved then, graceful and stealthy. His every step screamed ‘ _predator_ ’ to Will, and his heart quickened, pounding almost at a sickening rate.

They sat in silence for several minutes, Hannibal relaxed and contemplating, Will tense and ready to flee.

Would it be rude to leave now? Would Hannibal take it personally and become offended?

On the other hand, why did it matter if he left or stayed? So what if Will died now, thirty days earlier than he’d expected? Death was inevitable anyway, and while the luxurious life sounded tempting, it wasn’t worth this anxiety and terror.

Pacified, Will closed his eyes, letting the images of the stream take him. After a while he completely forgot about Hannibal Lecter’s presence — he was fishing again, listening to the sounds of water, turning his face to the sun and dissolving in its brilliant rays. Time lost its meaning.

He was home again.

 

 

***

 

 

Eventually, it was Brian Zeller who tore him from his dreams. Will woke up to Brian shaking him demandingly, cursing under his breath.

“How stupid are you, Graham?” he growled the moment Will glanced at him. “Leaving the safety of the compartment! Talking to Hannibal Lecter of all people!”

“Talking?” Will repeated, confused. “We didn’t really talk. He just asked if he could sit here and I said yes.”

Brian groaned.

“You have a death wish,” he muttered, nodding jerkily toward the compartment. “Go. We’ll talk inside.”

When the door behind them closed, Brian lashed out again.

“Are you completely mental?” he roared. “Do you know how I felt when that psycho knocked on the door and asked me to please wake you up and take you inside, because apparently you’re crazy enough to fall asleep in the middle of a battlefield! Next to a cannibal!”

“Now wait a minute,” Will interrupted, feeling his hackles rise. “First, I thought the entire carriage belonged to District Nine. I didn’t know other tributes were here with us. And ‘cannibal’? What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about Hannibal Lecter! I spoke to the other mentors here, and you know what I’ve learned? Lecter is already a murderer. He killed seven people in his District and ate them to hide the evidence.”

“If there is no evidence, how can you be sure he really killed them?” Will asked skeptically, and Brian stared at him as if he was speaking another language.

“Seriously?” he uttered in disbelief. “I’ve just told you that you spent two hours in a cannibal’s company, and you’re worrying about the evidence?”

“He’s not a cannibal until it’s proven,” Will rolled his eyes. “And I didn’t spend two hours with him.”

“You did,” Reba spoke, so quietly that Will barely heard her. “Hannibal Lecter came to our compartment and asked to take you inside, because other tributes could walk out and use your sleeping to their advantage. When Brian asked why he cared, Lecter said he’d just spent several wonderful hours in your company.”

“Wonderful hours?” Will echoed, unable to believe his ears. “But I was sleeping. What’s so wonderful about that?”

“I have no idea,” Brian said grimly. “I don’t know what game Lecter is playing, and I don’t want to find out. He’s dangerous, Will. You’ve seen him. He could have slit your throat in a heartbeat and there would be no witnesses, because no one was stupid enough to leave their compartments apart from you two. Lecter clearly thinks he’s invincible, but why someone like _you_ would do that…”

“All right, all right, I got it,” Will cut him off, annoyed. “It doesn’t matter now, does it? What’s done is done. I won’t go out again until we arrive.”

“See that you don’t,” Brian grumbled. “By the way, did you tell Lecter your name?”

“No. Why?”

The way Brian stared at him made Will shift uneasily, uncomfortable under such scrutiny.

“It’s just that he knew it,” Brian said slowly. “He knew your name. Usually tributes remember only the names of those they deem worthy opponents. It’s too early to remember everyone — you all have just been chosen, you don’t know each other yet. But he knew who you were.”

“Maybe he has a good memory,” Will offered. His discomfort kept growing and most of all he just wanted to be left alone. He’d never talked so much in his life — he didn’t want to start now.

But Hannibal Lecter knowing his name? It _was_ disturbing. It was scary. The person Will most wanted to avoid seemed to have noticed him already.

Christ. What had he gotten himself into?     

 

 

***

 

 

They arrived at the capital at ten in the morning. The territory had been cleared — people wouldn’t be allowed to see them until the stylists did their work.

Not that Will minded. He had no desire to be stared at, especially by those who probably knew nothing about pain, fear and hunger.

Now all the tributes were standing at the platform, waiting for the cars to take them for their first interviews. Some were chatting, some were shrinking as if hoping to become invisible; career tributes from the first two Districts had formed a group already, all trying to impress each other. Hannibal Lecter was the only one standing apart from everyone else, just looking at the sky. Will could see others throwing surreptitious glances at him, like they were trying to figure him out. In the end, no one risked approaching him — even the girl from Hannibal’s District, Bedelia something, steered clear, choosing the company of tributes from District Seven instead.

   Will himself was comfortable standing with Reba. She didn’t feel the need to fill every passing moment with conversation, so they spent time in a friendly silence, until a group of career tributes decided to approach them. Will tensed, watching as they got closer, lazily and clearly showing off. Fights were frowned upon, but Will doubted the security would actually do anything until things got too serious. Who didn’t love a good show?

“Hi there,” one of the tributes greeted him. Will couldn’t remember his name, but the guy still looked like a scarecrow. His eyes were narrowed and malicious, his lips stretched in a smile so fake that Will wanted to puke.

“My name is Mason Verger,” he introduced himself cheerfully. “And I’m the one who will skin you alive when the time comes.”

“Okay,” Will said in disinterest. He would worry about it after the Games started. Right now all words remained harmless threats.

Annoyance flickered across Mason’s face, and he turned his attention to Reba.

“As for you, my lady,” he sing-songed, “we’ll have a great, great time before taking off _your_ skin. I can assure you that you’ll love it.”

“Crude, Mason,” the girl from District Two said dispassionately. The whole exchange seemed to bore her. The other girl, form Mason’s District, looked vaguely disgusted, but the dark-skinned man — Tobias? — was excited. His eyes glistened with something crazy, something perverted, and Will felt sick to his stomach.

“I’m sorry,” Reba spoke, looking directly at Mason, “but I don’t find you very attractive. Good luck elsewhere.”

“Ooh, she has teeth!” Mason cackled, making Tobias laugh. Then he stepped up to Reba and slapped her face lightly. When she jerked, he slapped her again, in a way that was more humiliating than painful.

With the third slap Will’s patience snapped. He lunged at Mason, throwing him on the ground, but before he could land a blow, Mason gripped his hand hard enough to make him cry out.

The security started to shout something at them, and Will realized he had last precious seconds to do something to pay Mason back. Anything, _anything_ to make that stupid fucking smile of his disappear.

‘ _A cannibal_ ,’ he thought suddenly, remembering Brian’s words, and before he could stop himself, Will plunged his teeth into the succulence of Mason’s arm, ripping out a piece of it. He grinned, baring his bloody teeth, reveling in Mason’s scream even as the security grabbed him and started to pull him away.

While Mason could still see him, Will pointedly spat out the piece of his flesh and licked his lips slowly.

“You’re dead, you piece of shit,” Mason growled. Will shrugged.

As he was being pushed into a car, he accidentally caught the sight of Hannibal. He was staring at him with a look that was almost admiring, and so intense that Will’s skin began to burn.

He didn’t remember much after that.

 

 

***

 

 

He didn’t get punished for his attack. No one said a word about it: he was led into a room where an extremely unpleasant man named Clark Ingram started asking him questions. Questions about his hobbies, the way he spent his free time, his fears and his dreams.

Will spoke in monosyllables, partly because Ingram irritated him, partly because there was nothing to tell. He liked fishing. He spent his free time fishing. In the future he wanted to fish some more.

At the end of their conversation Ingram looked like he wanted to kill himself. Will wanted the same. They said their goodbyes with mutual relief, and after that Will was taken to the central building that was supposed to be a home to all the tributes until the Games.

He reunited with Reba and Brian there. Brian was predictably frustrated. Reba was unpredictably angry.

“I don’t need you to protect me!” she cried out the moment she felt his presence. “How could you be so stupid, Will! You made a real enemy out there!”

“We are all enemies anyway,” Will grumbled, scrutinizing his new room. It was big, bright and full of things he didn’t know the names of. He could already envision himself here, touching the royal looking piano, looking through the gigantic window.

The month that waited for him was looking better with every minute.

“I approve of what you did,” Brian said shortly. “Maybe now at least someone will take you seriously. Is there something you can do, some weapon you are good at using?”

“Uhm… fishing rod?” Will suggested. Brian sighed in defeat, shaking his head.

“Maybe some knives?” he asked almost desperately. “Can you throw a knife?”

“Of course I can throw a knife. I’m just not sure it would hit a target.”

“Okay, I give up,” holding his hands up, Brian turned away. “Tomorrow your training will start. There will be all kinds of weapons there and people who will help you recreate whatever situation you would like to experience. For example, if you want to try yourself at, let’s say, fighting three opponents at once, just ask the instructor and he will send the Broken ones to you.”

“What is the ‘broken’ ones?” Reba asked, voicing Will’s thoughts.

“It’s people who broke the law,” Brian answered, and by the tone of his voice Will realized the topic was painful. He could feel Brian’s struggles as he tried to find the appropriate words.

“Those people are basically stripped of their will,” he muttered finally. “They will do whatever they are told to do. You are allowed to kill them during your training.”

Will recoiled, images immediately filling his head, some more scaring than the others.

“Kill them?” he repeated hoarsely. “Like, for good?”

“Yes,” Brian’s smile was mirthless. “They are like factory supplies. They are here to be used and killed by the tributes.”

Whatever fascination Will had felt for this place was broken. Upset, he went to the bedroom and stayed there, trying to imagine killing someone he didn’t even know. Maybe he could kill Mason — the man was a pig and probably deserved death, but even then he would have to wait until Mason attacked him or Reba. Will couldn’t imagine attacking anyone first, without reasons.

How weak did that make him? How would Hannibal Lecter and other tributes look at him when he refused to take part in murder-trainings? If they were impressed by what he’d done to Mason today, then they would be just as disappointed tomorrow. And it didn’t matter, did it? They were not his friends. Maybe some of them started to see an actual opponent in him, but it couldn’t last long, not even if Will tried to pretend.

He just wasn’t cut out for it. For violence, for inflicting wounds, for killing. One lucky exception today couldn’t change what was inside him.    

Will was already dreading the next day.

 

 

***

 

 

The breakfast had so many courses that Will could barely move his feet after it. Heavy and sleepy, he dragged himself to the training centre, murmuring to Reba the directions so she would be able to find the place herself if the need arose.

When they stepped inside, Will froze for a moment.

The training centre was huge. It had parts of the forest, parts of the desert, a great pool that reminded Will of the ocean. And weapons, of course. Guns, knives, axes, bows, crossbows and hundreds of other things Will had never heard of before.

Some tributes were staring, looking as captivated as Will felt. Others were already reaching out for things that interested them.

They had to spend eleven hours here today, so the time supply was basically limitless. Will brought Reba to the _knot_ _-_ _tying_ station, as she’d asked, and sat in one of the corners, just observing other people.

He’d re-watched the footage from other Districts at night, so now he knew the names of everyone. The tributes from the first two Districts, Mason, Beverly, Tobias and Margot, still held together. They were currently fighting in pairs, unarmed, showing off their power. Will could admit that the sheer strength they possessed was impressive. Even Margot who looked so slender could probably easily snap his neck.

Jack and Phyllis from District Four busied themselves with knives. Jack kept teaching Phyllis how to throw one, explaining patiently what was wrong with her technique. The tone of his voice was so loving that Will felt fascinated. For a while he forgot about everyone else and concentrated on the pair, catching every tender gaze and every caressing touch. The feeling of love surrounding them was transfixing, making the training centre fade along with its horrors.

A funny little man named Franklyn also offered a good distraction. He was saying something to Abigail, a girl form his District, gesticulating wildly and making her laugh. That sound, genuine and clear, made Will’s heart clench painfully in his chest.

How he wanted to save them. The majority of them. And wasn’t it laughable, considering he couldn’t even save himself?

Feeling more and more on edge, Will sought out other tributes and found that some of them had also formed a group. Alana, Kade and Georgia were looking at different kinds of plants together, discussing which of them were poisonous and which could be used as food. Frederick Chilton hovered near them, looking scared and smug alternatingly. Watching him was fun, and Will spent some time smiling at Frederick’s antics.

Nicholas and Cassie Boyle stayed together, not interacting with other tributes. Francis and Marissa from District Eight did the same — they ignored others and were fighting against each other over and over again, in complete silence, their eyes burning with savage intensity. A shiver ran up Will’s spine as he watched them, so after several minutes he decided to change the focus of his attention again.

Garret from District Twelve was carving his own knives out of different items. Watching him would be interesting, but the way he looked made Will feel uneasy. His pale, sickly face was wet from sweating, his eyes glassy and unseeing, like he wasn’t even here. The girl from his District, though, was a pleasure to watch. Chiyoh was practicing with arrows and darts, and the way she touched the bow was reverent. She had elevated the training to the form of art, and Will was fascinated.

Loud growls from one of the stations made him turn his head involuntarily. Randall Tier chose the corner with a fake forest, and was now sitting near the tree, staring at something probably only he could see. Low, animalistic growls were coming from his chest, and Will backed away, not wanting to be close to this kind of madness.

He bumped into someone and cringed, murmuring apologies even before he turned around.

Bedelia and Abel stared at him, both cold and unamused.

“You should really watch yourself,” Abel drawled, looking at him as if Will were an annoying insect.

“You never know who you may encounter,” Bedelia added, her voice just as cold as her appearance suggested.

It was strange for a career tribute to unite with someone from other District. Will mused about it as he left their company, looking for another remote, unoccupied place. He would have expected Bedelia to form an alliance with Hannibal who was from her own District, or with other career tributes, but it seemed she placed her trust in Abel Gideon. The man was unnerving, Will could admit it, but definitely not as unnerving as Hannibal. Did Bedelia not want to bond with him, or did Hannibal prefer to be alone?

Will’s eyes stopped at Hannibal, and the latter option started to seem more probable.    

Hannibal was a loner. Will hadn’t seen him talk to anyone at all here, apart from himself — and it had been so brief that it couldn’t really be called a conversation.

Right now Hannibal was holding an ax, regarding the target in front of him calculatingly. Then he threw it, a quick and precise motion, and Will exhaled sharply when the target dropped to the floor. Hannibal, however, didn’t seem satisfied. He picked another ax and threw it again, this time without aiming, and the target still fell over, cut in the middle.

Well. Okay.

At least the death would be quick.

Will turned away from Hannibal, not wanting to watch him any longer. Maybe it was time to choose something for himself. What, though? He didn’t want to even touch the weapons. The only people he could realistically kill here weren’t bad — he couldn’t imagine himself shooting Abigail, or stabbing Alana. Still, with a whole month ahead, he had to entertain himself with something other than his imagination.

Slowly, Will started to walk around the centre, gazing at the sunlit desert, at the fake ocean, dark with impending storm.

Then his eyes fell on a stream, lengthy yet delicate, and his heart was stolen.

Maybe that’s what the interview with Ingram had been about. They wanted to know his preferences so they could provide the things he might want to use.

Near the stream there were neat rows of fishing rods, of all possible kinds and sizes. Will couldn’t believe he hadn’t found them earlier.

Smiling, he lowered himself near the fishing rods and began inspecting each one, touching and holding it for a while before replacing it with another. Finally he stopped his choice on the blue one, simple but elegant, and moved to the fishing lures, curious what the capital could offer.

Apparently, it could offer a lot. Will must have spent several hours sorting through the lures, charmed and excited. He’d never seen colors so bright, items so unusual and expensive. After an eternity of contemplation he chose light green plastic worm — not the best lure, not by a long shot, but soft and pleasant to touch and look at. Here, where starving wasn’t an issue, Will didn’t want to catch a lot — he just wanted to fish, to lose himself in the process and the calmness of it.

Feeling happier that he’d thought was possible at this place, Will took off his shoes and walked in the water, his skin tingling from pleasure at the soft touch of it. He turned in a way so other tributes couldn’t be seen, so he could pretend he was in his forest, alone.

Oh, yes. The following month would be wonderful.

 

Hour after hour Will spent in bliss. He could hear the singing of the birds; the wind was caressing his hair, trying to straighten his curls; the sun and the surface of the stream merged in a kiss. Everything was perfect, until a foreign voice said, “Is the haul good?”

Startled, Will whirled around, blinking. Hannibal Lecter was standing near his stream, his eyebrows raised with curiosity as he waited for an answer.

 “Pretty good,” Will muttered, turning his back on him. He hoped it would kill the conversation, but Hannibal didn’t leave, Will could still feel his presence.   

“Are you a fisherman at your home?” he asked.

“Why are you talking to me?” Will wondered aloud, his eyes on the bobber. “Do I look like the easiest target to you? Did you decide I’d make a good first victim?”

“You won’t be my first victim, William,” Hannibal said, amusement making his voice sound lighter. “I’m going to watch you before I kill you.”

“Why?” Will tilted his head. “Are you impressed with my fishing skills?”

“I do not eat fish,” Hannibal replied, scrunching his nose as if the mere suggestion offended him.

“Then I fail to see what you find interesting in me.”

“I wouldn’t call it ‘interesting’. But you do make me wonder.”

“About what?” Finally abandoning the pretence, Will turned fully around and frowned when he saw how close to him Hannibal was now standing.

Will had never been a fan of eye-contact, but looking into Hannibal’s eyes was particularly difficult. The constant intensity of his stares was getting on Will’s nerves, making his skin crawl.   

“I wonder,” Hannibal spoke in a conversationalist tone, “after your name sounded and you came up on that stage. Were you trembling from the fear of being chosen? Or from excitement?”

Will stared at him with his mouth agape. Then his grip on the fishing rod tightened and he looked back at the water, pretending Hannibal wasn’t here with him.

Hannibal didn’t seem to mind being ignored. Will felt like ages had passed before the oppressive presence behind his back finally disappeared, leaving him with his thoughts.

But no matter how hard he concentrated, he couldn’t dissolve in fishing again that day. 


	3. Seeing

The second time Hannibal interrupted his fishing Will was as tense as the day before. He spoke shortly and grudgingly, demonstrating his reluctance to talk yet wary of refusing Hannibal directly.

The third time he was more than a little annoyed. Hannibal asked random questions, some of which didn’t make sense at all, and listened to Will’s answers with rapture that was bewildering. Will could hardly imagine a more boring conversation, but if Hannibal liked being lulled to sleep, it was his business.

On the fourth day Will felt resigned. He didn’t need to turn around to feel Hannibal’s presence anymore — he just knew when he was there.

An hour passed peacefully, with no one disturbing him. When Will sensed a clot of darkness behind his back, he muttered, “Hello, Hannibal.”

“Hello, Will,” a pleased voice answered. “I see you’ve chosen another fishing rod for today.”

“It fits my mood.”

“Just as dark?”

“Among other things,” Will sent Hannibal a narrowed look. “If you insist on standing here, you might just as well join me.”

For a moment Hannibal looked genuinely taken aback.

“You suggest that I try fishing?” he clarified.

“Yes,” Will smiled, although he was sure it didn’t reach his eyes. “I know there are no rivers in District Three. I also know that you like discovering new things, things you have never tried, so you might actually enjoy it.”

There was a long pause during which Hannibal stared at him. Then he lowered his head.

“Very well,” he murmured. “Which rod do you think I should try?”   

Strangely, the idea of helping Hannibal choose a rod seemed pretty exciting. Will walked out of the water and sat near the rods, looking them over thoughtfully.

“Considering your preferences, I’d pick a longer rod. Long yet sensitive, so you could feel even the gentlest strikes from a fish. Something like this,” Will took a long, blood red rod and offered it to Hannibal.

“Thank you,” he said, eyeing it with interest. “May I ask what you meant by ‘my preferences’?”

“You are not like me,” Will moved toward the lures. “I can spend hours just holding the rod, watching the water. You, on the other hand… you enjoy seeing the results of your hunt. You’d want to catch a lot — otherwise, you’d feel bored.”

“Insightful,” Hannibal remarked. His eyes tracked Will’s every motion, and while it still felt intrusive, Will had to admit he started to get used to it. “What else can you tell about me?”

“Not much,” Will chose a bright green topwater lure and handed it over to Hannibal. “I can feel people to some extent, but I can never be sure if what I sense is true.”

“I’d enjoy hearing what you have sensed about me,” Hannibal uttered, and a small laugh escaped Will.

“Of course you would,” he said, smiling mirthlessly. “You love being the centre of attention, even though you don’t like people. You are not afraid of being killed and you are not afraid of killing. Some tributes are excited to be here, some are bitter. You? You are neither.”

“Go on,” Hannibal said, leaning closer to him. His pupils were blown wide, his breathing quickened, and he looked as if every word Will spoke fascinated him.

“Are you actually turned on by my picking at your brain?” Will asked incredulously, and Hannibal huffed in amusement.

“Please go on,” he repeated. Will shook his head, still disbelieving.

“You are bored,” he said finally. “You are bored with your life. You are bored with people. It’s like you’ve lived for thousands years already. The Games are a good distraction: you will try to win, but you won’t be disappointed if someone kills you first. I think you believe death to be a thrilling adventure, one you look forward to in some way.”

“Don’t you?” Hannibal murmured. He leaned so close that Will felt the warm breath on his face, stirring feelings inside him that he couldn’t name.

“Fishing,” he said loudly, turning toward the stream. “I bet you’ll like seeing the fish leap out of the water trying to engulf the bait. Just don’t move too quickly, and don’t try to retrieve the lure too fast.”

Hannibal walked into the water, holding his rod, smirking in a way that made Will want to smack him. He didn’t offer any other instructions and Hannibal didn’t ask: he just mirrored Will’s movements and soon enough they were both fishing. The silence between them felt awkward to Will, but he had no idea how to break it.

Fortunately, it was Hannibal who started talking again.

“You said I don’t like people. Is it really so obvious?”

“Of course it is. It’s obvious to everyone,” Will unconsciously stepped closer and frowned when he realized what he’d done. Clearing his throat, he backed away and went on, hoping Hannibal hadn’t noticed, “I also heard rumors about you.”

“Rumors?” Hannibal enquired. “What kind of them?”

“That you killed seven people at your District. Killed them and, ah… ate them,” Will grimaced.

“You find the thought of it distasteful?”

“I find the thought of gossip distasteful. I don’t think people should discuss others’ missteps if they are not sure something actually happened.”

“Do _you_ think it happened?”

“Are you asking me if I think you ate seven people?” Will raised his eyebrows. The question sounded ridiculous to him, but with Hannibal he could never know. “I can’t answer that, but I think you’ll have problems if you try eating someone on the arena. Too many people will want to kill you as it is.”

Hannibal seemed very pleased at the thought.

“You believe me to be a main target for other tributes?” he asked.

“It’s your own fault. You are a loner here, you even pushed away a person from your own District,” Will nodded at Bedelia. “I don’t think it’s wise.”

“You are a very interesting man, Will Graham,” Hannibal said, and Will blinked. Least of all had he expected to be complimented. A burning sensation spread over his face and he started shifting uneasily, hoping the redness of his skin wasn’t too glaring.

He probably hoped in vain, though. Considering how intently Hannibal was watching him, it was doubtful he could miss anything.

“Your advice to me is to befriend some of the tributes,” Hannibal uttered, “yet you choose to keep to yourself.”

“I didn’t mean ‘befriend’ them, I meant ‘form an alliance’. It wouldn’t be that hard, you’d just have to talk to them and they would accept the offer.”

“I’m talking to you, aren’t I?”

Will snorted.

“You don’t form alliances with food,” he said, rolling his eyes, and then Hannibal laughed. It was a surprising, genuine sound that made Will forget all about the fishing and stare, enchanted. 

Hannibal didn’t look like himself when he was laughing. The laughter transformed him, making him into a creature so exquisite that it took Will’s breath away.

When he came to his senses, Hannibal was gazing at him almost fondly, the traces of smile still lingering at the corners of his mouth.

“You are right, of course, Will,” he murmured. “That is why I’m not going to form alliances with anyone. Everyone is food here to me.”

“Well, have a good meal, then,” Will grumbled.

Chuckling, Hannibal concentrated on the fishing and Will tried to follow his example. He tried, but something was bothering him, something was burning his back, and when he finally turned around, he saw Bedelia glaring at him. Her glare was so poisonous that Will could almost feel it physically, could feel the poison enter his bloodstream, spreading, thick and deadly.

Damn. It seemed he’d made another enemy whose priority would be to kill him first. Because of Hannibal, who wasn’t even his friend and who freely admitted that he was going to kill him sooner or later.

Will knew he would die on the arena, but three people targeting him at once? That was way too many.

And not even a week had passed.

 

 

***

 

 

On the seventh day a pleasant woman named Molly walked into the training centre, asking for their attention.

“From now on all of you will have a chance to show off your fighting skills,” she said cheerfully. “I will be calling your names and you’ll go in there,” she nodded at the room surrounded by glass. “You’ll meet two Brokens there. They won’t be able to talk and they’ll follow your commands. If you ask them to run, they will run, if you ask them to stand still, they will stand still. Kill them the way you want. You’ll be allowed to take one kind of weapon of your choosing. Choose wisely and good luck!” She grinned encouragingly at them and Will wondered about her. There was an intellect in her eyes, intellect and sadness, but her voice was happy, the expression on her face excited.

How many deaths had Molly witnessed? What did she really feel?

“Tobias Budge, please,” Molly called out. Squaring his shoulders, Tobias moved toward the room and Will almost recoiled as he passed. Tobias’ excitement, his thirst for cruelty, for death were overflowing the air, making it hot and putrid, difficult to breathe in.

The glass walls closed after Tobias had entered the room, and Will looked at the two people who were already standing there. They were both male, both pale and frightened, but no sound escaped them even as Tobias barked, “Run!”

They followed the command blindly, turning their backs to Tobias. Will froze when he saw their faces again — hopeless and desperate. Doomed.

Tobias jumped, grinning ferociously. Something glistened in his hand — a knife? A scalpel? Will squinted involuntarily, trying to see, but after a second it didn’t matter. A spray of blood splashed onto the glass and gurgled screams filled the air. 

Will knew it would happen, but he still felt stricken. He must have made some sound because Reba suddenly took his hand in hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“Don’t look,” she whispered. “Listening to this is hard enough, you don’t have to see it.”

Will tried, but he found it impossible to look away. Tobias’ victims were no longer screaming, though he was still on top of them, cutting; an animal, not a human.

His heart rate skittering, Will glanced at Hannibal. Hannibal was watching the scene like other tributes, but he looked bored, his lips curled derisively. Will shivered, forgetting all about Tobias. When Hannibal was talking to him, somehow he felt lighter, more relaxed, deceptively friendly. But when he didn’t know Will was looking, his entire shape changed. Even from his place Will could see the darkness in Hannibal’s eyes, a biting coldness that made him absolutely unapproachable. All tributes probably felt it, because they gave him a wide berth even now, choosing to stand as far from him as possible.

Tobias left the room, triumphant and smug, as if he’d dealt with real attackers rather than with two malnourished people who had no choice but to obey. The disgust that Will felt for the man grew stronger, and if he didn’t have enough enemies already, he would have spat right under his feet.

Mason was the next one to go inside. As soon as the glass behind him closed, he clapped his hands, staring at the two Brokens in front of him.

“So nice to meet you!” he cooed. “Although if you don’t mind my saying it, you look a little unwell. Why don’t you go and smash your heads against that wall?”

One of the Brokens hesitated, and while his face remained emotionless, Will could feel a war raging inside him. Despite the horrors done to him, this man was still trying to fight his instincts, his body trembling with the effort. Unconsciously, Will made a step forward, but then he was pinned by Hannibal’s curious gaze. Flustered, he paused, and then it was too late. Both Brokens ran into the glass wall, painting it with blood. Then again, and again, and again, under Mason’s cheerful orders and until they couldn’t move anymore.

Watching them actually turn broken was unbearable, but Will didn’t let himself look away. He kept watching till the last agonized gulp of air, till Mason hoorayed and raised his hands in victory.

“Here I am!” he drawled. “Killing without having any weapon. Congratulate your winner.”

Chilton clapped, grinning at Mason but looking terrified. No one else moved; no one seemed impressed. Beverly, despite her alliance with Mason, looked revolted. 

Abigail Hobbs went into the room shaking, and then she slashed the Brokens’ throats, quickly and unwaveringly. A lot of tributes looked surprised at this, but Will just followed Abigail with his eyes, noting the way her body still jerked and how she couldn’t bring herself to look at anyone. An ache seized his heart, and when Abigail staggered, he caught her, stroking her back lightly and hoping no one would notice. Apart from Hannibal, of course, whose eyes were fixed either on the death show or on him.

Ignoring him, Will whispered to Abigail, “It’s all right. You did the right thing.”

She didn’t answer him, but the way her eyes brightened and watered was enough.

Abigail wanted to show everyone that they shouldn’t dismiss her easily, but killing had brought her no pleasure. Will could bet that after today Abigail would be plagued by nightmares, and they wouldn’t leave her until her very death.

“Jack Crawford,” Molly announced.   

Like Abigail, Jack hadn’t given the Broken ones any commands. He broke their necks swiftly and seemingly effortlessly. When he left the room, he walked directly to Phyllis and kissed her in front of everyone. The kiss was quick albeit passionate, and very telling. After they broke apart, Jack sent a death glare to others, to every tribute watching him. The message was clear — ‘don’t fuck with my girlfriend and I won’t fuck with you’. Will could respect that. He smiled at Jack, hoping to convey his own message, but Jack just narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“William Graham,” Molly called out. Will gritted his teeth, remaining motionless. Then he started moved slowly, first to the forest area full of bushes. He could see eyes following him, but for now he chose to ignore it.

Will took a handful of berries that he knew were poisonous and stepped inside the room. His two Brokens stared at him miserably, and he offered them a small smile.

“Close your eyes,” he whispered. “Relax. Just think of something pleasant.”

They both obeyed, some tension leaving their bodies. Will approached them, quietly so not to spook them.

“I’ll give you something to eat,” he said. “It will taste good and you won’t feel any pain. You’ll fall asleep for a bit, and when you wake up, you’ll be in a much better place. A safe place, one you will love. No one will hurt you there. Ever.”

He pushed the berries into the men’s hands and watched how they ate them readily.

When they fell to the ground, Will thought he could see a ghost of a smile on their faces. It somewhat soothed the burning sense of guilt inside him, but he still felt like crying.

Touching pale dead faces briefly, Will walked out, ignoring the snickers and snorts around him. He risked glancing at Hannibal as he was passing him by, and while Hannibal didn’t smile, he also didn’t look derisive. Thoughtful, maybe.

Scolding himself for caring, Will stopped near Reba.

“Hannibal Lecter,” Molly read from her list, and Will tensed immediately. The idea of watching Hannibal kill was terrifying, but also intoxicating in a weird way that he didn’t fully understand.

Exhaling sharply, Will stared ahead.

Hannibal didn’t take a weapon with him. He stopped at the farthest corner from the Brokens and nodded at them, as if in greeting.

“Attack, if you want,” he said. Two men stood frozen for a moment, before lunging at Hannibal with a hoarse cry. Will flinched, suddenly unsure whose safety worried him more, but Hannibal moved in a flash, so quick that Will hadn’t even realized what was happening until the Brokens doubled over. Hannibal moved again, and from the distance it looked as if he leaned over one of the men, tracing his neck with his lips. Will gaped when suddenly a pained scream pierced the silence. The Broken one staggered away, his neck a bleeding wound, and before he could do something Hannibal came at him again, with the same precise deadliness.

More screams echoed, and with a sudden wave of horror Will realized what Hannibal was doing. He was eating those men alive, piece by piece right on the stage, using abrupt movements to confuse and slow them down.

It felt like a nightmare. It felt surreal, and Will would have closed his eyes if he remembered how to move. In less than a minute one of the men was dead, chunks of flesh missing, while Hannibal amused himself with the remaining one. He let him attack several times, shifting at the last moment to avoid being hit, but after a while he jumped on the man and pressed his mouth to his neck. A strangled groan sounded, and then it was over. Pushing the corpse out of the way, Hannibal turned to them, chewing a piece of flesh thoroughly.

“Thank you,” he said, to the dead bodies or to the audience, Will didn’t know. And frankly, wanting to know anything about Hannibal was the last thing on his mind now. His eyes burned for some reason, and when Hannibal tried to catch his gaze, Will turned away.

The rest of the fights passed in a blur. Some part of Will still managed to feel terror when he witnessed how Francis Dolarhyde incinerated his pair of Broken ones, his face coming to life for the first time since their training had started. Will didn’t notice what he’d used, but the screams of two people being burned alive haunted him even after Francis had left the stage, letting Franklyn take his place.

Randall Tier acted as wildly as during the trainings. Using sharp and cleverly constructed claws, he literally ripped his victims apart, roaring like a bear, making Will’s heart pound at a sickening rate.

He was so relieved when the fights were over that he didn’t even wait for Reba. Overwhelmed, unsure of what he wanted more, to break down and to kill the first person who bothered him, Will practically ran to his stream, hiding between the rows of the fishing rods. Lowering himself on the ground, he closed his eyes with his hands, taking deep, shaky breaths.

“One, two, three,” he whispered. Usually the simple words helped, but not this time. Even after muttering them over and over again, Will didn’t feel calmer. Violent memories kept attacking his mind, tearing pieces of it, leaving him bleeding mentally. The chill had collected itself into a ball and settled in his stomach, refusing to let go, and Will wished for the darkness of his room, for the silence of the night.

“Will?” a voice uttered. Tension immediately flooded his body and Will pursed his lips tightly.   

Hannibal. The last person he wanted to talk to.

“Leave,” he said shortly. “I don’t want to see you.”

The footsteps sounded closer, and Will didn’t need to open his eyes to know that Hannibal had predictably ignored his wish.

“Look at me,” he demanded.

The urge to tell Hannibal to fuck off was so strong that Will considered it, then discarded.

He was right. He had been right from the start, Hannibal was dangerous and inhumanly cruel. Being rude to him wasn’t an option if Will didn’t want to end up as a chew-toy. Though he probably still would, no matter what he did.

Reluctantly, he raised his head. Maybe he looked tired, but at least he hadn’t broken down like his body wanted. It was a small victory.

Hannibal was frowning, hypnotizing him with his stare.

“Are you angry with me?” he asked, and then grimaced, looking as incredulous at his own question as Will felt. It was so ridiculous that he barked out a laugh. 

“Angry?” he echoed. “No, Hannibal. I’m not angry. I have only myself to blame for thinking that you were someone you aren’t. I imagined too much and I ended up being disappointed. Not a big deal, I’m used to it. Can you leave now?”

“Who did you think I was?” Hannibal asked, still frowning, and Will banged his head against the wall. What an awful day.

“I thought you were my friend,” he said softly. “I know you aren’t. You never pretended to be, but all those little conversations, all your attention… I felt flattered, I guess. Enough that I chose to forget your promise to kill me.”

“And now you remembered because..?”

“Because you are a murderer,” Will stared at him, suddenly uncaring of repercussions. “You did kill people in your District. They know about seven, but there were more, right? Much more. You perceive people as things. You are incapable of really feeling anything, anything but curiosity.”

“It’s an interesting conclusion, Will,” Hannibal drawled. He looked composed again, but Will could see the displeasure flickering behind the shutters. “I never told you I hadn’t killed those men. I gave you a choice, and you chose to believe what you preferred.”

“I know,” Will repeated blandly. “I already said that I don’t blame you. Can we finish this now? I’d really like to be alone.”

Hannibal’s jaw tightened as he almost glared at him. However, he said nothing, and Will shut his eyes, summoning the remains of his strength. His imagination was still weakened, yet after some efforts it opened the door to his familiar forest. So welcoming, so comfortable.

But even immersed into the fantasy world, Will still heard Hannibal’s quiet promise, “We will see each other again, Will. Very soon.”

 

    

 


	4. Touching

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your support! This chapter turned out to be longer than the previous ones. And the number of chapters have grown by one - now I'm planning approximately 10 chapters. Chapter 6 should be the start of the Games. I hope you'll enjoy!

Hannibal attempted to initiate conversation several times after that disastrous day, but Will steadily ignored him. Pride stopped Hannibal from saying something that would require direct answer, but he still greeted him every morning and threw several casual remarks.

Will replied to none. When he stared at the water long enough, it was almost easy to pretend that he was here alone, except…

Except it was bullshit. He felt Hannibal’s presence with every fiber of his being, despite anger and disgust still churning inside. Will wasn’t sure what Hannibal’s plan was, but he refused to give in more than he already had.

Not that it mattered. Hannibal still came to him and stood at his side, fishing, and though they didn’t exchange words, Will felt absurdly as if their minds and their bodies still communicated somehow, even with the silence stretched between them for hours.

Sometimes he watched Hannibal from the corner of his eye. With all his skills and scrutiny, Hannibal still hadn’t managed to catch anything. A lot of times the fish jumped out from the water, trying to swallow the lure, but every time it missed because Hannibal jerked the rod too harshly, too quickly. The scowling disbelief on Hannibal’s face was almost enough to make Will giggle.

Almost.

Perhaps Hannibal would have been more lucky if he’d chosen another lure, but he stubbornly stuck to the topwater one. And since Will wasn’t talking to him, he couldn’t know what he was doing wrong.

Will tightened his hold on his own rod when suddenly there was a splash. He turned his head in the direction of the sound instinctively and saw a big bass swirl on Hannibal’s lure.

For a second they both froze, exchanging identically incredulous gazes, and then Will exclaimed, “Pull! Pull now, it’s hooked!”

Hannibal obeyed, and when the jerking bass landed on the floor between them, he stared at it admiringly.

“How exquisite you are,” he said softly, unable to take his eyes off the fish. Will grinned. Hannibal had mentioned he didn’t like fish, but Will could bet that he’d want to cook and eat this one. The first catch was always exhilarating, Will knew it better than anyone.

“Should I kill it now or should I watch it die?” Hannibal murmured.

“Why do you care?” Will stepped back, suddenly remembering who he was talking to. “Besides, I’m sure my answer isn’t going to change anything. You will do what you want to do.”

He bent over to pick up his fishing rod when Hannibal asked, “Are you having nightmares about the people you killed?”

Will tensed, slowly strengthening his back. The images of his Broken ones flashed across his mind, but there was no guilt accompanying them, just empathy.  

“No,” he said shortly.

By the silence behind he could tell that Hannibal hadn’t expected this answer.

“No?” he echoed, sounding intrigued. Will turned to send him a glare.

“No,” he repeated. “I know I killed them. But I don’t feel like I did. I know it’s my fault, but it doesn’t feel that way.”

“It’s understandable,” Hannibal noted after another pause. “The method of killing you chose was as far from intimate as possible. What you did to them should rather be called therapy than murder.”

A small laugh escaped Will and he shook his head.

“Thanks,” he said dryly. He could never figure out if Hannibal intended to insult him or comfort him. The more time they spent together, the more it screwed with Will’s mind.

A friend? Or a foe? Was it pathetic to think this way about someone he’d only had brief conversations with?

All doubts dissipated when Hannibal went on.

“What about your friend? Is _she_ having nightmares?”

To someone he might have sounded concerned, but Will heard the unmistakable glee in the words, the deceptive nature of Hannibal’s caring voice that hid only morbid curiosity.

This man didn’t consider him a friend or a foe. He considered him a toy, and Will should never let himself forget.

“Reba is fine,” he stated calmly. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get back to fishing.”

“Do you intend to fish until the Games start?” Hannibal wondered.

“I don’t intend to live after the Games start,” Will answered coldly. “I’d rather spend the time I have left on something that brings me joy, not on useless trainings.”

Hannibal smiled at him, as if Will had said something charming.

“You showed me how to fish. I can show you how to hunt, if you want,” he offered, imperturbably as always.

Will blinked, taken aback by the offer. It was strangely sweet of Hannibal to suggest this. Was it genuine? Or was it just a part of the game?

“Thank you, but no,” he finally replied. “I know how to hunt animals. I’m not going to hunt humans.”

Hannibal stepped to him, smiling in the dangerous way that made Will’s heart start thrashing somewhere in the ribcage.

“Watch them,” Hannibal said quietly, nodding at the other tributes. “Keep watching for a while, and soon you will not see the difference.”

Disturbed by the effect Hannibal’s proximity had on him, Will backed away.

He didn’t need all this. He had enough problems, one of them being Reba. While he hadn’t lied when he said he didn’t have nightmares, he’d lied about her.

Reba had broken down after her demonstration. Not at once, but when Will had entered their suite, he found her in the bathroom, retching and sobbing. She’d spent every night since then in his room, clutching at him in desperate attempts to hide from the nightmares. Will stroked her hair, whispering meaningless words, promising to be near.

He understood her. Reba couldn’t see what she’d done, but what she’d felt and smelt was enough.

She’d chosen a simple gun before walking into that room. In a distanced, aloof voice that Will had never heard from her, she ordered Brokens to jump. She killed them both with clean headshots, the first after the second one, while their feet were still in the air. Her lack of sight didn’t mean she was helpless, and her performance, her accuracy along with her incredible hearing impressed even Mason who stared at her with his mouth agape.

Reba looked like a Queen after she left the room. Cold, collected, not the Reba Will knew at all. She disappeared immediately after the last tribute’s kill, and Will was too distracted by his own turmoil to notice her suffering.

Reba was wrecked. The tributes might have started to respect her now, but she had lost all respect for herself. She’d turned into a shadow, and no matter how hard Will tried, she refused to let herself be comforted. She still let him hold her at nights, but that was it. Reba had died there with her Broken ones, and Will couldn’t bring her back.   

Taking a deep calming breath, Will looked at the stream.

He didn’t have nightmares about his victims, but he dreamt about Hannibal’s. Screaming, twisting, being eaten alive.

Eleven days till the Games. 

 

 

***

 

 

The evenings were the most difficult part. Before that murderous day, Will liked spending time in his room. There were books and TV with the movies he’d never seen before, but now the atmosphere was grim. Reba’s pain and sorrow filled every corner of every room, and Will was slowly suffocating.

“Reba?” he called out hesitantly. “Do you want me to come in?”

“No,” a voice answered, and Will shivered. It wasn’t Reba’s voice. It belonged to someone else, to someone empty and defeated. It sounded dead.

“Are you sure? Maybe we could watch some movies, I’ve just seen…”

“Leave me alone, Will! Just… just leave me alone. Please.”

Rubbing his eyes, Will turned away and walked out of the suite. He couldn’t bear staying here — Reba’s despair and anguish were overwhelming him to the point when he was no longer sure which emotions belonged to him and which were Reba’s. It was intolerable.

In the corridor Will stopped, wondering where to go. He’d never been here before exactly — he was used to walking to the training centre and to the dining room, so exploring the building was a new experience.

Come to think of it, he hadn’t been outside for more than a week.

Sudden longing for fresh air made Will’s head spin. Making a decision, he searched for the elevator and pushed the highest button, hoping there was a decent roof here where he could spend the rest of the evening.

The corridors on the top floor were long, darkened and empty at this time. Will took a couple of wrong turns before he finally found the stairs that led to the roof.

He wasn’t sure what he’d hoped to find, but he certainly wasn’t disappointed. The place was spacious and silent, the air pleasantly cool, and there were even several vases of beautiful flowers that Will studied curiously.

He didn’t need the temptation of looking down from the roof, so he chose a spot in the middle and sat there, staring at the starlit sky in awe.

The wind was whispering something, caressing his skin, his hair, and Will smiled, feeling a strange sort of elation. He closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them again he knew without a doubt that he was no longer alone. The darkness hovered behind, and Will really wished he could still be surprised.

“What are you doing here, Hannibal?” he asked without turning. “It starts to look suspiciously stalkerish. First you refuse to do anything but fishing at the training centre, even though you despise it, now you are here?”

“Yes, it seems extreme,” Hannibal agreed. He moved soundlessly, so Will was startled when he suddenly appeared on his left. “However,” Hannibal continued, “this is my place. I spend every night on this roof and this is the first time I see you here.”

“Sorry,” Will murmured, embarrassed. What was wrong with him? The idea of jumping from the roof was looking more and more alluring.

“It’s fine. I don’t mind.” Hannibal lowered himself near him, also staring at the sky. “Your company is pleasant.”

It was ridiculous that Will blushed. It was ridiculous that his heart was fluttering. Did it really take so little for him to warm up to someone? Not just to someone, but to a monster like Hannibal. A little attention, several conversations, a couple of innocent compliments, and he was willing to overlook everything else?

Annoyed with himself, Will decided to stick to his former pattern of behavior, namely — ignoring Hannibal. It was getting more difficult at the training centre, because he already had the stream mesmerized, but the sky? It was something new, something inspiring.

Unfortunately, Hannibal refused to be ignored. Leaning over Will, breaking into his personal space, he asked, “What are you looking at?”

“The same thing you are looking at. The sky.”

“I’m afraid you are wrong,” the corners of Hannibal’s mouth curled up, the smile softening his strong features, and Will’s treacherous eyes drank in every movement.

“What?” he asked, distracted.

“We may be looking at the same thing, but the essences of what we see can differ drastically. What do you see, Will, when you look at the sky?”

“Something unknown,” he replied without thinking. “I’ve never seen the sky open like this. The stars. In my District the smoke from the factories was so thick that all I saw was grayness, so right now I can’t think about what I’m looking at. I just... enjoy.”

Hannibal tilted his head, in agreement or in wonder, Will didn’t know. He said nothing, so it was Will who spoke next.

“What do _you_ see?”

In the silence that followed Will strongly felt how pleased Hannibal was with his question. His smile turned contemplating, and it took a while before he began to talk.

“I see the future. I believe we all will turn into the cold light of the stars after we die. We will merge with it, become a part of it. The worthy ones of us — the swine will never receive this honor.”

“I don’t know,” Will said quietly. “I think I’d prefer to turn into water, because the sky with its stars… it scares me. It’s too cold. Too indifferent.”

“Too unknown to you,” Hannibal nodded. “It is impossible to predict what waits for us behind the veil. I suppose everyone chooses their own theory. I tend to favor the stars, but we might just as well turn into water, like you said.”

   “Does the sky feel closer to you because you could see it in your District?” Will wondered. “I know there are no rivers there, so water is probably as unknown and disquieting to you as the sky is to me.”

Hannibal’s expression suddenly turned cold. The shutters fell down.

“Don’t ask me questions about my District,” he warned lowly. “I do not wish to speak of it with you.”

Will froze, feeling like he’d been slapped.

“Right,” he said tersely. “You can ask me personal questions, but I can’t.”

“You can. But it would end poorly and I would advise against it.”

How could the same person keep making the same mistake over and over again? What was happening to him?

Will got up and headed toward the stairs. When he almost reached them, Hannibal’s surprisingly hesitant voice followed him.

“You don’t have to leave.”

Scoffing in disbelief, Will turned to him.

“I know that I don’t have to leave,” he said icily. “You are in no position to tell me where I can or cannot be. However, I find your company unsatisfying. I’d prefer Reba’s sorrow to your inability to make up your mind.” 

Hannibal’s eyes narrowed dangerously, but Will went on.

“I’m tired of you following me. I’m tired of you playing games that I don’t understand. I don’t know why you picked me of all people, but I’d like you to leave me alone. Your mood swings are getting tedious, and frankly, I’m sick of being your distraction — whatever it is you’re tying to distract yourself from. I like this place, so I’ll come here tomorrow around nine, like today. I’ll leave before midnight, so you can still have it for yourself and we won’t have to interact. Have a good night.”

Will moved down the stairs as fast as he could without making it look like he was running away.

Only when he was safely closed in the elevator, he allowed himself to breathe.

 

 

***

 

 

The next day was a day of interviews. The day when their faces and personalities would finally become familiar to the audience, when the details of their fights with the Brokens would be shown.

Will felt sick form the very morning. Not only because he had to tolerate the stylists hovering over him, but because he knew that after today, he would have to forget about privacy. All their trainings would start being recorded, they would be giving short interviews every day, even during the meals they wouldn’t be left alone. The cameras would be there, sucking in every movement, every sigh and breath.

Will couldn’t imagine anything more horrible.

His stylist was a young man named Peter. He was unusually shy for a place like this, and after a while Will asked.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes. Sorry,” Peter sent him a weak smile. “I’m just nervous, this is my first year with the tributes and I don’t want to ruin things.”

“Oh.” That explained some things. “Don’t worry. Whatever you come up with for me, it won’t matter once I start talking. I’ll ruin everything by myself.”

Peter giggled before slapping his mouth with his hand. Clearing his throat nervously, he muttered, “Sorry. I don’t think you will ruin something.”

“Trust me, I will. I don’t know how to talk to people, I don’t know how to make them like me when I don’t like them. It’s hopeless,” Will sighed, running his hand through his hair. When Peter stared at him admiringly, he frowned. “What?”

“N-nothing, you just… I mean… You are very pretty. People will be too busy staring at you, I’m sure they won’t pay much attention to what you’ll be saying.”

“Oh,” Will said again. It was his turn to fidget awkwardly. “That’s nice of you to say. But, there are tributes who look stunning and who will definitely manage to string two words together. Unlike me.”

“You can rehearse with me, if you want,” Peter suggested hesitantly. “I know what questions Cordell will be asking, I’ve already seen his notes. It’s forbidden to share with the tributes, but…”

“Then don’t,” Will interrupted. “I appreciate your help, I really do, but I don’t want you to have problems because of me. Let’s just focus on the suit. Or a t-shirt? What did you plan?”

Peter grinned.

“What do you think?” he asked and Will shuddered.

“Oh God. Don’t tell me I will be naked, because I’ll just refuse to go up there.”

Peter’s laughter miraculously made him look confident, handsome, and Will relaxed under the sound of it.

He had no doubts the day would be awful, but at least his stylist was a good company.

Unlike some people.

 

 

***

 

 

Beverly’s interview had passed, Mason was finishing his, and Will was still staring at himself in the mirror, unable to believe it was really him.

For all his seeming uncertainty, Peter had done a wonderful job. The suit fitted Will perfectly, and it was of strange blue-green color that made his eyes stand out. He looked sophisticated, elegant. Whatever material Peter had used, it almost sparkled, adding something ethereal to Will’s look. He didn’t look like himself, but maybe it was for the better — after all, Will had never been a fan of himself, so maybe he’d like this new version more.

The clothes of the majority of other tributes were brilliant, but when Will wasn’t looking at himself, he was looking only at Hannibal. Hannibal, whose eyes hadn’t left him since he entered the common room, whose intent stare was burning a hole in his back.

It made him uncomfortable. And breathlessly excited.

After one of such stares Will’s legs threatened to turn into jelly, so he tried to concentrate on himself and on what he was going to say.

Maybe it had been a mistake to refuse Peter’s offer. If he had known the questions beforehand, he wouldn’t feel so nervous now. He had nothing to lose, that was true, but being a laughing stock still wasn’t a nice prospect.

Getting more and more upset, Will glanced at the screen.

Tobias was answering questions. He looked regal and powerful and talked in a lazy voice, so disgustingly self-confident that Will grimaced. Career tributes were deadly this year, all of them. Someone like Tobias or Mason wouldn’t be satisfied with a quick kill — no, they were going to long for torture. Will could just hope that they wouldn’t be the ones to catch him. On the other hand, being burned alive like Francis apparently preferred to kill was also a frightening idea, not to mention Randall with his feral behavior.

And Hannibal. Hannibal who liked to eat people.

Bedelia was slim and mysterious in her beautiful orange dress. Her stylist must have dyed her hair because it was almost red now, making her look like the Queen of the Fire.

A wave of coldness washed over Will when he heard her quiet, haughty voice. Something was so off with Bedelia that sometimes it was difficult to even look at her. Hannibal, Mason, Francis, Randall were just terrifying, but Bedelia? She was something Will couldn’t quite describe.

Hannibal went after her, sending him a last long look. Will didn’t want to listen to this interview, but once he saw Hannibal on the stage, he knew his plan was doomed. He couldn’t look away even if he tried.

“We’ve seen your fight with the Brokens, Hannibal,” Cordell, the host for the Games, said. “It was impressive. It shocked even me, and trust me, it takes a lot for that to happen. Tell us, how does the human flesh taste?”  

“Every taste is unique,” Hannibal uttered, smiling coldly. “I look forward to diversifying my palate on the arena.”

Several tributes near Will shuddered. Cordell’s smirk grew hungry.

“And we definitely look forward to seeing it,” he said. “Cannibals are rare, we didn’t encounter many during the Games. It will be interesting.”

“I don’t consider myself a cannibal. Cannibalism requires equality between the eating and the one being eaten — I don’t see equality between myself and other tributes.”

“Bold, but refreshing. I like it,” Cordell beamed. “So you aren’t going to form alliances? It’s unusual for career tributes.”

“I don’t need allies. But I’m going to choose one,” Hannibal stared directly at the camera. “Just for the fun of it.”

“Oh!” Cordell almost jumped from excitement. “Who is it going to be? Have you made a decision already?”

“Yes,” Hannibal’s smile turned even chillier. “I won’t disclose everything now, Cordell. I hope you’ll forgive me for it. But I can say that the person I’ve chosen as my ally will have a chance to prove herself or himself. Tonight.”

Cordell continued to gush over the mystery till the end of Hannibal’s interview, and Will stopped listening. His mind was replaying what he’d just heard, trying to realize if Hannibal meant him or not.

He did spend the majority of his time fishing alongside Will. Talking, or just simply standing nearby. And Will had said yesterday that he was going to come to the roof around nine, so technically Hannibal could have decided to wait for him there, to talk again, for real this time.

But. Will wasn’t stupid enough to think that if Hannibal amused himself with his company, he was going to offer him to become allies. Even if he had forgotten the fact that Will was basically useless, he couldn’t have forgotten about Reba. Hannibal probably understood that Will was going to protect her at all costs, that he wouldn’t go anywhere without her.

So the offer must be for someone else. Hannibal had made an emphasis on ‘ _herself_ ’, like the person he wanted to have as an ally was a woman. Bedelia, then? Who the hell knew what kind of relationship the two of them shared. Hannibal didn’t really communicate with her in the training centre, but they shared a suite. Maybe all this, including Hannibal’s attention to Will, was a part of their mutual elaborate plan?

Will kept thinking until he saw Hannibal walk back into the common room. To his astonishment, Hannibal approached Mason and said something quietly. Mason’s eyes widened. Then he nodded slowly. A few more sentences were exchanged and Hannibal moved away, as if nothing had happened, knowing perfectly well that everyone was staring at him.

Going to Mason right after that interview? Did it mean Mason was Hannibal’s choice?

The idea was ludicrous, but…

But nothing. Will didn’t care. He didn’t.

Well. Maybe a little bit.

 

 

***

 

 

The stage was huge. The crowd was even huger. They were painted in all possible colors, more resembled clowns than actual people, and Will thought they were all idiots. They could probably see it on his face, because the rounds of applause he received were weaker than for other tributes.

“What do you think about the capital?” Cordell asked politely. It took some time before Will could focus on the question.

“What?” he asked. His eyes were traveling from one person to another, finding them all identical.

“The capital,” Cordell repeated, unable to fully hide the annoyance in his voice. “What is your impression of it?”

“It’s big. And crowded. But there are a lot of things here that I’ve never seen before, so I guess it’s not bad.”

“Fascinating,” Cordell said dryly. “What have you liked most so far?”

“My stylist,” Will smiled genuinely. “Peter. And the suit he made for me. I never wore similar clothes, so at first it seemed foreign and weird, but it feels amazing.”

Cordell glanced at his suit with obvious interest.

“And it looks amazing, too,” he noted. “This is Peter’s debut, right?” Will nodded. “Impressive. It brings out your eyes — a strange color, by the way. Is it blue? Or green?”

“It’s gray,” Will grumbled. “The suit just made them brighter.”

Several people laughed, and Will had no idea if they laughed at his words or at him.

“You killed your Broken ones with the berries. Does it mean poison is your specialty?”

“Fishing is my specialty,” Will said. “I probably won’t die from hunger, so it’s something.”

“It is,” Cordell nodded, but he looked dubious. “What about the weapon? Do you have any preferences?”

“Wait and see,” Will snapped. At the confused silence around him he groaned inwardly, feeling mortified.

What was wrong with him? Christ. Brian would be furious. The sponsors would be shocked.

It was the end. The end.

Cordell hastened to finish his interview, cutting his time short. Will didn’t mind, he just wanted to get out of there.

In the common room he was greeted with snorts from the tributes and with Reba’s compassionate gaze. It seemed that his disastrous interview had finally made her wake up, because for a moment she looked like the person he grew to love.

“Good luck,” he whispered to her. “And don’t worry. After me they’ll be happy with anyone.”

 

After the last interview they were all led to a bigger room with tables covered with various meals; a room with the dance floor and things Will had no idea how to call. Apart from them, there were other people — potential sponsors, maybe. Will watched them for a while when suddenly an excited voice called his name.

He turned just in time to be enveloped in a tight embrace. Tensing, Will tried to move when his brain finally realized that the person hugging him was Peter.

“Oh, it’s you.” Smiling, Will patted his back clumsily. “I’m glad you are here. Did you see me? I was terrible.”

“No, it wasn’t so bad!” Peter pulled away, his eyes shining. “You were so genuine, so honest. And you mentioned me! I already received compliments from my boss, and he never compliments anyone!”

“You deserve it,” Will shrugged. “Your suit was the only thing that kept me on that stage for so long. Otherwise, I’m afraid they’d have kicked me out.”

Peter shook his head, still staring at him in awe. Then he took his hand, squeezing it gently, and Will immediately tensed again. Peter was a nice guy, but Will’s body still refused to be touched.

“I loved your interview,” Peter said. “I liked that you were yourself. We will meet again, Will, I’ll have to make another suit for you, for the final party. I promise I’ll do something spectacular!”

“I don’t doubt,” Will sent him a small smile. “I look forward to it.”

Peter hugged him again and moved to another group of people, who greeted him with applause.

Grinning at how flustered it made his stylist, Will turned and was paralyzed by Hannibal’s icy stare. It was enraged, almost murderous, and Will felt panic grip his gut in a vise. It was an instinctive, uncontrollable reaction, but the fury emanating from Hannibal was screaming ‘danger’.

Will wasn’t going to test fate. Exhaling sharply, he stumbled away, as far from the threat as he could get.

It took almost an hour for him to calm down.

 

 

***

 

 

The party was thankfully approaching its end. A lot of people had left already, but the tributes had to stay until the very end, so Will found a quiet spot and was patiently waiting there.

His eyes found Reba and he frowned, seeing that Francis Dolarhyde approached her and started saying something. His hackles rising, Will made a step forward, but a blinding smile Reba sent to Dolarhyde stopped him in his tracks.

What the hell…? Since when did they even know each other?

Will stared in disbelief how they began to talk, and Francis, despite his grim look, even attempted to smile.

He had obviously missed something.

Will decided to be close anyway, so he started to move when a hushed voice behind one of the columns made him freeze.

“…meant, but I sincerely hope that you weren’t talking about that twitchy boy.”

Bedelia’s whispery drawl was unmistakable. Will hesitated, but remained standing.

“You know very well that you won’t get a direct answer from me. Not tonight, at least,” Hannibal said to her, sounding bored.

Bedelia’s sigh was exasperated.

“Would you stop playing games, Hannibal, at least for a moment? This is serious. I need to know what you have planned, because I have several plans of my own. I need to know if they coincide.”

“You mean you would like to know if I’m going to take you as my ally, and if not, you are going to turn to Abel Gideon.”

“I have already turned to him. I told you he and I made a deal. Gideon is highly skilled and dangerous, he would be a good asset.”          

 Will couldn’t see them, but he was sure Hannibal was smiling.

“I’ll tell you when I’m ready to tell,” he drawled. “But do give Mister Gideon my regards.”

Bedelia huffed in annoyance.

“If you were really talking about that little fisherman, then I advise you to think again,” she hissed. “I understand your infatuation, Hannibal — all these pretty curls and wide eyes and naïve innocence. But this is the Games. You have to think rationally to survive, and that boy has nothing but his face and you know it.”

“You don’t have to worry about William,” Hannibal murmured. “He is mine to deal with, and I assure you that I’m still thinking rationally.”

“Good,” Bedelia said curtly. “Now Mason is a worthier ally, but he’s a sleaze. If you want to join him…”

“There are only a few days left, Bedelia. Do show some patience.”

“Sometimes it’s impossible to talk to you!”

Hannibal laughed, but his laugh wasn’t pleasant.

“I’ll let you and Mister Gideon know my decision,” he said. Will felt him move, and hastened to hide behind the other column. Just in time — Hannibal walked away, and soon Bedelia left as well, adjusting her hair on the way.

Nothing precise had been said, but Will felt inexplicitly angry.         

 

Some of the tributes had left, but some were still here, including Hannibal. Will waited until he wandered in one of the corners of the room and stopped to admire a painting. Seeing his chance, Will approached, still not sure what he was going to say, but feeling a burning urge to say something.

“Is everything a game to you?” he asked. Hannibal turned, quickly schooling his surprised expression.   

“I’m sorry?”

“I asked if everything is a game to you.” Will stopped several feet from him, tilting his head. “I haven’t heard one honest thing from you since we were brought here, and I’m probably not the only one. You toy with me. You toy with Bedelia, a tribute from your own District. You obviously toy with Mason. Does your curiosity mean more to you than your life? Are you not worried that others will finally get enough of your elusiveness and hunt you down together?”  

“Life is not worth living if you don’t take risks,” Hannibal answered, his eyes glinting mockingly.

“Does anyone know the real you?” Will wondered aloud. “Does the real you even exist, or have you lost yourself in all those schemes and manipulations?”

“I have been honest with you from the beginning, Will. Nothing I said to you was a lie.”

“That’s the thing — you haven’t said anything. You spent a lot of time with me, but I still know you as well as I know tributes who I’ve never even spoken to. You are not a person, you are a shadow.”

Only small tightening of Hannibal’s jaw showed that he was displeased. Encouraged, Will made a step forward, closer, and was curious to see how Hannibal’s breath caught.

“I wonder if you are capable of letting your mask slip,” he murmured. Inwardly, he was shocked with himself. He sounded almost seductive — and how the hell did he know what seductive even sounded like? “I wonder if you can let it slip for long enough so it would be possible to see the real you. You are not taken aback by much, are you? You are always so calm. So in control. Amusing yourself at the expense of the others. Shall I apply your tactic?”

Not giving himself time to change his mind, Will stepped even closer, pressing his lips to Hannibal’s mouth. He heard a sharp intake of breath and forced himself to keep his eyes open, watching myriads of emotions pass over Hannibal’s face. For a second Hannibal stood frozen, taut, but then his lips opened, following Will’s, so hesitant and soft, as if unsure if the kiss was genuine.

Another shaky inhalation of breath, a shudder — and Hannibal’s hands moved to Will’s shoulders, holding him like he was the most precious and fragile thing he had ever encountered.

The moment Hannibal began to sink further into the kiss, Will stepped away, breaking the contact. The man stared at him, hungry and bewildered, his eyes abnormally dark.

“This is exactly what I meant,” Will said hoarsely. “Goodnight, Hannibal.”

Knowing that if he stayed for one more moment, he’d do something even more mortifying, Will left.

He could feel the wintery taste of Hannibal’s lips all the way toward his room.       


	5. Grooming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your support! And sorry for the delay - I got a new job and I've been pretty busy. The next chapter might also take a while, but after that I hope to write quickly again.

Will paused near the door of his suite, narrowing his eyes. He could see a streak of light beneath, and the door handle was in a weird position, meaning someone was already inside. Will knew he’d closed the door, and the light had definitely been turned off. It couldn’t be Reba because she had been still chatting with Francis when Will left. So… who else had the key? Only Brian. And Brian could be inside only if he wanted to yell at Will for his failed interview.

Maybe it was even worse that Will had thought.

Suddenly making a decision, Will turned and headed to the elevator. It was almost nine anyway, he could spend some time on the roof and come back by midnight. Brian would have certainly lost his patience and left by then. Will still would be yelled at, but tomorrow, not today, and even a small delay would suffice.

The closer Will got to the highest floor, the tighter a knot in his stomach got. Something was wrong. He wasn’t sure what exactly, but the cold chill pouring down his body whispered ‘ _dangerous_ ’, and ‘ _stop_ ’, and ‘ _turn back_ ’.  

Frowning, he faltered for a moment, but then continued walking, feeling an almost masochistic desire to see for himself whether or not he was right.

The lights here seemed darker than before. Will started climbing the stairs, listening intently to the noises around him, but all he could hear was wind.

As soon as he stepped onto the roof, something whistled right next to him. Instinctively, Will jumped away, and the ground he’d just stood on was smashed with something. Shocked, Will stared at the hole in it, then slowly glanced at Tobias who was holding a strange long stick in his hand.

“Quick reflexes,” Tobias noted silkily. “Bad luck.”

“Very bad luck indeed,” a familiar voice drawled. Mason stepped forward from the shadows, grinning. A small knife was glistening in his hand, and Will had no doubts who he was going to use it on.  

“Hello there,” Mason cooed, his smile widening when Will made a step back. “Since you are here, I think we are going to have to spend some time together. And what a wonderful time it is going to be.”

There was no time for thinking. Will dashed toward the stairs, but he’d managed to make just a few steps before Tobias roughly grabbed him by the hair, pulling him back. It hurt ridiculously a lot, and Will barely held back a groan.

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, _stupid_. He had known, he had _felt_ something was wrong, but he’d still decided to come. Was it recklessness? Or was it something more, something darker? Did he want to die before the Games started, before he had a chance to lose himself completely?

Whatever it was, it didn’t matter. Mason and Tobias had obviously been waiting for him, and whatever they had planned, it wasn’t pleasant.

Will had just made a big mistake. Probably his last one.

“Bring him closer,” Mason instructed, and Tobias obeyed, moving toward the edge of the roof. Will tried to get free, kicking Tobias viciously, but it was pointless — the man was even stronger than he looked, Will was like a rag doll in his arms.

“Don’t fight so hard. I’d hate to see your pretty face cut up sooner than it should be.” Mason approached, still grinning, still disgusting and frightening. Will stilled, knowing that all he could do now was wait. He wouldn’t win this fight, not against two men at once, but he could still inflict some damage.

Absently, Will wondered if Mason and Tobias intended to kill him, or just mutilate him. Generally killing tributes before the Games was frowned upon, but a good show was always welcome — besides, something told him that by the time his body was found, Mason and Tobias would be in their rooms, playing innocent. No one would prove anything.

“I wanted to deal with you on the arena,” Mason continued, now eyeing his knife thoughtfully. “I have come up with plenty of options for you there — we would have had so much fun! But, life is full of surprises. You see, your friend Hannibal Lecter approached me after the interviews. I know you saw it, considering the way your eyes were burning holes in my back,” Mason shifted again, coming so close that Will could see his dilated pupils. “You probably want to know what he said, right? I mean, doesn’t everyone? It’s Hannibal Lecter, our infamous cannibal who never speaks to anyone but you. I bet everyone is dying to find out what we discussed, especially after that interview when he said he’d chosen an ally. I’ll be generous, I’ll share the news with you,” Mason leaned to him, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “He chose me.”

“Like hell he did,” Will spat before he had time to stop himself. It wasn’t smart to mock Mason, but the resentment boiling inside him was too thick to resist.

Mason, however, didn’t seem to mind. On the contrary, he looked very pleased.

“Oh, I know it hurts,” he drawled sympathetically. “Thinking you are special, learning that you are not. I hate to disappoint you, I really do, but Lecter told me that you would be on this roof at nine o’clock precisely. Today. He told me I would have a chance to get rid of you, to prove my worth. I don’t really have to prove my worth to anyone, I know what I’m capable of, but still, having Lecter as an ally would be good. Especially if to secure him, I have to bring myself the pleasure of killing you,” Mason laughed in genuine delight. “What do you think?”

Will stared at him, feeling more open than ever before. His mind was blank, his heart somewhere in his stomach, coiling miserably, filling his blood with poison.

Hannibal had told Mason to come and kill him? Hannibal?

Was it possible? Could he have done it?

Small enamoured part of him refused to believe Mason, but it was impossible to resist cold, hard facts. Mason had known where to find him. He had known that Will would come to the roof at nine o’clock. Only Hannibal could have told him, and he _had_ approached Mason right after the interview.

Hannibal had betrayed him again.

The pain that engulfed him was visceral, nothing like he’d experienced. Will hung his head, letting his hair cover his face, hiding his thoughts from Mason. His eyes burned. His skin burned. Everything burned — his whole world was on fire, and the feeling of humiliation was so strong that Will welcomed the flames, wanting to be taken by them and dissolved.

How stupid he had been to trust someone like Hannibal. To kiss someone like him.  

Suddenly, the resignation and the hurt paused. Rage came to the surface, brilliant, all-encompassing rage.

How dared he? How dared any of them?

Will pushed back, using Tobias’ body to steady himself, and kicked Mason in the face as hard as he could. Mason yelped, staggering, and when Tobias temporarily loosened his grip, Will lashed out, hitting everything he could reach, with every ounce of strength he possessed. He didn’t see anything but blackness, fuelled by his fury. Tobias punched him in the face twice, but he hardly felt it, blinded with desire to inflict as much harm as possible.  

When Will came to his senses, Tobias was holding him again, breathing heavily. Mason’s face was bloodied, the look in his eyes deadly.

“Hold him still,” he said, his fake playfulness absent for once. His knife pressed against Will’s cheek, but before he could push the blade in, a calm voice said, “I suggest that you drop it.”

Will’s eyes immediately shot to the silhouette standing near the stairs. His heart jumped, in elation or in dread, when he realized it was Hannibal. Hannibal, whose stance was taut, like a cat ready to spring. Hannibal, whose expression was almost feral.

“Lecter?” Mason blinked, lowering the knife. “Did you come to join the show or do you want to just watch?”

“What I want is for you to step away from him,” Hannibal answered, still calm, but the threat in his voice was unmistakable. “Please do it now, before I’m forced to make you.”

“What kind of game are you playing at?” Mason hissed. “You told me yourself that Will Graham would be on this damned roof at nine. You asked me to prove to you what I could do.”

“Consider me unimpressed. Two against one is never honest, especially in a situation like this. Besides…” Hannibal’s eyes lingered on Will for a moment, as if trying to tell him something. “The circumstances have changed.”

Something shifted in the air. The tension thickened, and Will suddenly got the message Hannibal had been wanting to convey.

Hannibal had sold him out for his own reasons, reasons he would unlikely decide to share. He had still been going with his plan after the interviews, when he approached Mason. But after Will’s impulsive, clumsy kiss Hannibal had changed his mind. He came here to protect him, to prove his loyalty.

After having betrayed him.  

Will couldn’t decide if he was angry or touched. Was it possible to feel both? It was certainly endearing in some way — he doubted Hannibal had ever tried to protect anyone, but it was also too late. Now that Mason and Tobias were here, they wouldn’t just leave. They were strong opponents, and even though they might have wanted to become Hannibal’s allies, they wouldn’t just roll over and follow his every order. This would end in blood.

Just as Will had predicted, Mason’s eyes flashed and an unpleasant grin formed on his lips.

“You think you’re the best here, don’t you?” he mused. “You _are_ dangerous, that’s true, but you are not irreplaceable. And if you came here now to save your toy, it tells me that you have a weakness, and a weak tribute is a dead tribute. Consider our arrangements broken.”

“I believe this is what I said,” Hannibal uttered, and Will felt how a ball of fury within Mason had finally exploded.

“Throw him off the roof,” he barked at Tobias, and without turning changed the grip on his knife and threw it at Hannibal. Will jerked, but he didn’t have time to see if Mason had hit his target. Tobias hurled him toward the edge and all he could do was wave his hands awkwardly, trying to keep his balance. Tobias stepped after him, for a final push, but even though Will was standing on the edge, he was free.

He wouldn’t stand a chance against this man’s pure strength, but he was smaller and faster. And — he wasn’t ashamed of running away.

Will crouched down abruptly, and then darted forward, taking Tobias briefly by surprise. When he whirled around, growling, Will was already in the middle of the roof, watching him carefully. The most important thing now was to keep the distance between them, to not let Tobias approach.

Will’s thoughts were interrupted by a painful scream. Both he and Tobias turned to find the source and saw Mason limping away from Hannibal, cradling his right hand, his face twisted in a grimace. At this moment Will regretted not having seen the fight. There was a cut on Hannibal’s cheek, but overall he looked fine. Mason, on the other hand, was limping and his arm was clearly broken.

Having a broken arm right before the Games was a death sentence. Even Will understood it.

Tobias seemed to understand it too. Something calculating glimmered in his eyes. He bowed slightly, as if admitting defeat, and backed away in the direction of the stairs, watching Hannibal warily. When Hannibal made no movement to attack him, Tobias turned and disappeared in the darkness, like he’d never been here at all.

Mason was alone now. The bitterness emanating form him was palpable, and Will allowed himself to feel pity, but only for a short moment.

“You have me as your enemy now,” Mason said softly, staring at Hannibal. When Hannibal’s lips curled in a derisive smile, Mason’s voice grew louder. “Yes, I know what you think. You think I will be useless from now on. You think my allies will turn away from me, because what can a tribute with a broken arm realistically do? But mark my words, Lecter, I’m still far from harmless. And my priority now will be to kill you. So watch your back. As for you,” Mason glanced at Will, sneering. “You are a fool if you truly believe you won’t end up with his knife in your back. Or in your stomach. He sold you out today, he will sell you out again. Just wait and see. I will definitely enjoy it when it happens. After all, there is only one winner.”

“Beverly is probably worried,” Hannibal said mildly. “You’d better go. It’s getting late.”

“I’m going, I’m going,” Mason winced, glaring at his limp arm. “Enjoy the night. It’s one of your last ones.”

Will watched him go for as long as he could before he was forced to look back at Hannibal.

Hannibal’s eyes didn’t leave his face. His breathing had already evened out, but the fire from the fight was obviously still burning in him; something dangerous was still lurking beneath the surface.

‘ _He betrayed you_ ,’ Will’s mind whispered.

‘ _He saved you!_ ’ his heart sang.

His tongue refused to say anything at all, so Will just stood silently, waiting.

Hannibal crossed the distance between them, moving slowly enough to let him escape if he wanted. Since Will had no idea what it was that he wanted, he remained in his place. He stood still even as Hannibal came close enough to touch him, even as he _did_ touch him, carefully and gently, tracing his cheekbone with his fingers.

“I like this white-hot fierceness in you,” Hannibal murmured. “I like that you managed to mar Mason’s face even when it was two against one.”

“I don’t like this double game you insist on playing,” Will remarked. He was glad to hear that his voice sounded steady. “I don’t like people who can’t make up their minds.”

“I have made up my mind a long time ago,” Hannibal touched his hair, still hesitantly, as if unsure if he had that right. “I just altered it slightly.”

“Good to know,” Will said dryly. “If that’s all, I’d like to leave now. Having a friend arrange my death is stressful enough for one evening.”

 “A friend?” Hannibal repeated after a pause, his voice strangely small. Will flushed.

What the hell had possessed him to say it?

“Never mind. Just let me go, okay?” He tried to push past Hannibal, but a strong hand wrapped around his waist, holding him still. Hannibal’s eyes were bright, the expression on his face unfamiliarly open and wanting. Before Will could say anything, Hannibal covered his mouth with his, kissing him slowly yet intensely. Will wasn’t sure what it said about him that he instantly yielded, closing his eyes and kissing Hannibal back. A delicious tingle spread through his body when Hannibal put his hands on the sides of Will’s face, as if to hold him where he wanted him. Then one of his hands crawled up and winded up in Will’s hair, gripping it almost painfully. Hannibal tugged at it sharply, making Will open his mouth wider, and his tongue slipped inside, demanding and possessive.

Will felt dizzy. His breathing was growing quicker, heavier, until he felt he was going to pass out. The kiss was overwhelming, frightening and blissful at the same time, and Will still had no idea what to do. Stopping was impossible, but continuing… continuing was dangerous.

And so wonderful.

Will could imagine this kiss end in many different ways, but he never expected to hear Reba’s panicked voice calling his name. He had almost missed it, but when Hannibal tensed and broke the kiss, Will had to reluctantly open his eyes.

“Will!” Now Reba’s presence finally registered in his mind. Blinking, he stared at her, not even trying to move away from Hannibal. “Will, are you here?”

The despair that sounded in her words was enough to bring him back to earth. Worried, Will pushed Hannibal aside and walked to his friend, slowly so not to startle her.

“I’m here,” he said. “What are you doing, did something happen?”

“Will!” Reba jumped into his arms, hiding her face in his shoulder. “Thank God. Thank God you are here. Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Will patted her back soothingly. “What’s wrong? How did you find me?”

“I came back to our room and the door was unlocked. I thought you were already there. I called, but you didn’t answer. And then I stepped on something, on some kind of rustling paper. There were words on it, they were… protruding, like someone cut them out of a newspaper. I could feel the contours. It said…” Reba inhaled sharply. “It said ‘ _Will is going to die. Roof. 9 o’clock_ ’. I tried to find Brian or anyone else, but there was no one around and it was already nine, so I decided to try and find this place by myself. I was so worried.”

Reba kept saying something, but Will stopped listening. He narrowed his eyes at Hannibal who was standing silently where Will had left him. His face was blank again, but Will could feel waves of satisfaction radiating form him. Like something had played out exactly the way he wanted it.

Had Hannibal been the one to contact Reba? Why?

“Good night, Will. Miss McClane,” Hannibal said politely. Reba jerked, surprised, clearly not expecting to hear his voice.

There was a long silence between them. Only after Hannibal had left, Reba murmured, “What was he doing here? Did he hurt you?”

“I don’t know,” Will answered. His thoughts were running so fast that he couldn’t catch up with them. “Probably not.”

“Probably? What does it even mean?”

Will had no idea.

 

 

***

 

 

They didn’t talk about what happened. When they returned to their room, Will silently looked at the note Reba had given him. Black letters stood out ominously, warning about the danger he was in.

His suspicions intensified, but the clear answer was still out of reach, so Will murmured some apologies and closed himself in his bedroom, thinking.

Hannibal was playing a game. But which one? What were the rules, and what part belonged to Will?  

The morning came sooner that he had expected. He and Reba were taken to the training centre that was already full of reporters with cameras, and Will stared at them in horror. He had completely forgotten that from now on they were going to be filmed for the audience.  

 All other tributes also seemed displeased. Hannibal looked sour, especially when the door opened and their stylists came in, hovering over them and talking in animated voices.

‘ _What a circus_ ,’ Will thought, though he managed a small smile when Peter approached him, genuinely glad to see him.

“Hi!” Peter exclaimed, grinning. Will had expected the embrace, but he was still startled when Peter practically jumped to his side, hugging him tightly.

“I almost missed you,” Peter said sadly. “I never understood why stylists are not allowed to pay friendly visits to tributes. But hey, at least we can come up with the most perfect suit for you!”

“Bring it on,” Will shrugged. He doubted he would be able to look enthusiastic even if he tried, but Peter’s excitement calmed some parts of him.

According to rules, the stylists had to work with the tributes right in the training centre, in front of the cameras, in order to make them seem more real to the audience. Will felt that everyone resented this. The stylists were stealing the last days of training, and no one would prefer a beautiful suit to staying alive.

While Peter was taking more measurements, Will entertained himself by watching others. His eyes immediately found Mason who looked unusually subdued. He was ignoring a young woman running around him, his thoughts were obviously elsewhere. Probably on the arena, trying to find the ways to survive despite his broken arm. Now everything depended on his allies, on whether or not they would choose to stay with him.

The majority of girls looked interested in the various types of fabric. Reba was especially nice to watch — her eyes were sparkling when she touched the blue piece of clothing her stylist had offered, and Will’s heart tightened painfully.

He had managed to forget that their days were numbered. He was so focused on Hannibal and their weird friendship that he’d allowed himself to become carefree. Again.

Hannibal.

Reluctant but unable to fight the impulse, Will turned to watch him. Hannibal was listening to his stylist, but his eyes, predictably, were on him.

“Creepy,” Will mouthed. An amused smile flickered across Hannibal’s face, but his expression hardened when he glanced at Peter.

Snorting, Will rolled his eyes. Was Hannibal seriously jealous? Or did he have other reasons for disliking his stylist?

Not that he cared, but it was funny to watch.

 

 

***

 

 

The next several days passed identically. In the morning they were brought to the training centre where the stylists worked on them and the journalists wandered around, approaching some of the tributes from time to time and asking questions. Will was relieved to find out that no one wanted to interview him — most reporters ignored him completely. However, they were pretty interested in Peter, and Peter was determined to turn Will into celebrity.

Whenever some poor soul made the mistake of asking Peter a question, he immediately pulled Will closer and animatedly talked about his District or the adventures Will had allegedly experienced. He had made all of the stories up, always making them sound as if Will was the luckiest, the wittiest, the cleverest person in the world. Some journalists looked skeptical, especially when Will offered nothing to support Peter’s claims, but some actually seemed intrigued.

Will wasn’t sure if he was grateful for Peter’s efforts or mortified. The attention he was receiving was unnerving, but if it increased his chances on the Arena…

Oh right. As if it could change anything.

Hannibal also started to grate on his nerves. His glances grew darker every day, his animosity toward Peter turned from mild to fiery. It was annoying as hell. Did Hannibal really consider Peter a competitor for what he imagined was Will’s affections? The mere idea of it was ludicrous, yet Will knew he wasn’t hallucinating. Hannibal’s resentment and enmity were palpable.

They didn’t have a chance to talk. They probably wouldn’t until the very Games, and Will was already missing their conversations, no matter how weird or vague they had been.

 

There were only two days left until the Games when the routine had suddenly changed. It was the day of the final interviews: the dresses and the suits were finally ready, the stylists had completed their work and were eager to show off the results. When Will and Reba came to the training centre for the last fitting, they were stopped by Brian, pale and almost scared.

“You can’t go inside,” he blurted out.

“Why?” Will asked slowly. A feeling of impending doom raised its ugly head, whispering and giggling, making him shiver. Something bad had happened. Something that made the Gamekeepers close the training centre in panic. Other tributes that gathered in front of the door were exchanging curious glances, so they probably didn’t know more than Will. Except…

Except Hannibal who stood looking darkly pleased. Their eyes met for a second, and a wave of foreign grim satisfaction and self-confidence crashed into Will.

 _Anger. Envy. Resentment. Guilt. Tenderness_.

So many feelings, most of them shadowy and dangerous, none of them belonging to Will.

Will recoiled with a gasp, unsure if what he’d just experienced was real. Hannibal raised his eyebrows, an interest flashing across his face, and Will turned away before he did something he would regret.

“Your stylist is dead,” Brian said, quietly so only Will and Reba could hear him. “His body was found in the training centre. The way he was displayed… Let’s just say, I’m glad that you didn’t see him, that they found him first. Now there will be investigation, and it’s a disaster. No more interviews, no final presentations. You won’t have a chance to make people love you, Will, it is too late now.”

“I don’t care,” Will replied woodenly. His head throbbed. “Do they have any suspects?”

“No,” Brian admitted. “They think one of the tributes did it, but they can’t prove it. There were no cameras in the stylists’ headquarters or in the centre when it’s empty. No one has seen or heard anything.”

“Of course not.” Will rubbed his eyes with his hands, feeling endlessly, hopelessly tired. Peter. Bright, friendly and talented, with childish enthusiasm.

How could Will have miscalculated so severely? How could he have watched Hannibal’s hostility and think nothing of it?

How could he have forgotten what kind of monster he was dealing with?

His thoughts were in turmoil. He didn’t remember how he’d come back to his room. He didn’t know how much time he’d spent there, staring at the ceiling, thinking of Hannibal and Peter and cruelty that he couldn’t get used to.

It’d never occurred to him that his games with Hannibal could end with such consequences. Will was always willing to part with his own life, but not with the lives of others, the lives of innocent.

Peter shouldn’t have died. Peter was a good man, a nice man, someone who just wanted to create and revel in the joy of creating. It was incomprehensible that Hannibal had killed him. For what? For being friendly with Will? Laughable. But what other reasons could be there?

Reba knocked on his door hours later, saying something about the sections with tributes being locked down. Will didn’t reply.

He wasn’t forced to leave his room. Reba was patiently bringing him meals and Will ate some of them. Some small rational part of him was whimpering about the start of the Games, how he should be as sated as possible, so Will tried to make an effort.

Nothing felt real. Nothing felt real even as he was finally kicked out of the room, to have his last breakfast. Brian and Reba were at the table, Brian’s face sorrowful, Reba’s calm and collected.

“When you see the arena for the first time, just look around,” Brian murmured. “When the Games start, run as fast as you can. Do you understand? Don’t fight anyone for the weapons, it isn’t worth it. Just run. Preferably together.”

“Of course,” Will answered mechanically. He still had hard time thinking, but some parts of him started to wake up. “I won’t leave Reba. We’ll run together.”

Reba sent him a warm smile, but didn’t say anything.

Maybe Will should have added something. Maybe they should have formed a clearer plan, but Reba was silent and so was he.

Brian hugged both of them before they were led to a small plane. Will could see him from the window, a tall, mournful figure.

He watched him as the plane took off, knowing it was the last time they saw each other. Brian wasn’t really his friend… but saying good-bye was still excruciatingly painful.

“We probably won’t survive the first day,” Will said finally, turning to Reba. “But we will still run. Okay?”

“Okay,” she agreed easily. “We will run.”

Something in her voice seemed off. Will narrowed his eyes, but then Reba squeezed his hand, and he remembered the last time Peter had done in.

A new wave of sorrow forced all of his other thoughts out.

He didn’t say a word until they arrived at their destination. He and Reba were separated; several indifferent men checked Will for hidden weapons and then gave him some clothes. Not particularly warm, but comfortable enough.

Will was still partly in trance when he stood in the elevator.

He came to his senses fully when he saw the arena.


	6. Running

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much, guys, I'm simply blown away by your response! I appreciate all your words so much!
> 
> This chapter is shorter than usual and I'd call it a transitional one. I wish I could include more in it, but for now I just needed everyone to come to the same place. The next chapter will be long again, and we've finally come to Will/Hannibal relationship active development part :) And - we'll meet Hannibal and Will's new biggest enemy soon. I can't wait to start writing it!
> 
> Thanks again!

Will’s father had often told him that the best way to prepare for something unpleasant was to count.

‘Just repeat the numbers,’ he’d said. ‘Take as long as you need. You can count slowly and you can count quickly. It doesn’t matter, just count. This way you’ll be able to ready yourself, even if you are scared of something. You might not control what comes through the gate, but you can control _when_ it happens.’

Count.

Will wanted to count, but he felt as if he’d forgotten the numbers. His lips, however, seemed to remember them, because a moment later he found himself whispering, “One, two, three”.

The feeling of fear subsided gradually, and he managed to look around, trying to see everything at once.

Forest on the left. Forest on the right. Big, strange river in the middle, surrounded by all kinds of weapons. Bags of different sizes lying between the river and the platform on which the tributes were standing.

Where to run? When?

One, two, three.

Will frantically glanced at the other tributes, trying to find Reba. He saw Mason, whose calculating gaze was fixed on the river with weapons. He saw Bedelia who looked so indifferent that he wouldn’t be surprised if she suddenly started polishing her nails.

He saw Francis who was mouthing some words, words that Will couldn’t decipher. He saw Hannibal, all predatory and scary. Abel, grinning madly. Beverly, so cold and collected. Abigail, twitchy and nervous.

Reba. Finally, finally Reba. She was standing far away from him, and while her face seemed calm, Will could feel the tension coiling in her body.

The clock was ticking away the tiny measures of his life. Thirty seconds were left.

One. Two. Three.

Reba had to wait for him. God, Will hoped she would wait for him. Why the hell hadn’t they planned anything more carefully?

Or had they? What if they had and he just didn’t…

A loud noise startled him. Will jerked, and when he looked up again, he saw that all other tributes broke into a run.

The Games had officially started.

‘ _But there were thirty more seconds left_ ,’ he thought stupidly, staring at the backs of the others. ‘ _Did they pass already? So soon_?’

His next thought was that he was still standing and gaping while the precious time was slipping by. He could be killed at any moment — some of the tributes didn’t even need weapon for this. Someone like Tobias could easily jump and break his neck.

And Reba.

Oh God, why was he still _standing_?

Will dashed toward the place where he’d seen Reba, mindless of the screams and yells that sounded everywhere. He was close when Abel Gideon suddenly appeared right in front of him, still grinning. Will crashed into him, and the impact made him fall on his back. He tried to get up, but it was clear that the time was no longer favorable to him. Especially since Gideon was left standing, holding a knife in his hands.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt you,” he drawled, “but I believe your time in this world has come to an end. Say goodbye to your fish, Mr. Graham.”

Will couldn’t think of anything better than to kick him. His last hope died when Gideon easily dodged his blow and raised his knife quickly, the expression on his face turning feral.

Then the knife fell from his hands. Gideon grunted, his eyes grew comically wide. He made several strange movements and fell onto the ground, right in front of Will.

Will stared at the ax sticking out of his head and slowly looked up. Hannibal was standing near one of the bags. Considering the blood stains on his shirt, he had obviously managed to get into a fight, to survive it and to secure a weapon — and now he had stopped to save Will’s life.

A strange growl full of helpless rage sounded nearby, making Will jerk his head. Bedelia was holding one of the bags, staring at Hannibal with the expression that was both furious and frightened.

Of course. Hannibal had just killed her ally, the one she’d been working on since the very beginning. Come to think of it, killing Will had been probably her idea. And now she was left without Gideon, and definitely without Hannibal.

Hannibal had promised to give her an answer.

He’d just done it. Bedelia was screwed.

But she didn’t matter to Will right now. Neither did Hannibal, with his crazy ideas and contradictory actions. Will had to get to Reba and get as far away from this place as he could.

Reba was still waiting peacefully, as if she didn’t hear the shouts and the noises of fights. She was waiting, trusting Will to come after her, and he couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ let her down. 

They did need some kind of a weapon, though.

Will grabbed the ax protruding form Gideon’s head and yanked it out with all his strength. It was surprisingly heavy and he would hardly be able to use it, but it was already something.

The feeling of greed suddenly overtook him. A big bag was lying just several steps from him, so Will jerked forward, grabbing it.

“Kill Lecter! Quickly, grab him, he’s getting away!” Mason’s commanding voice shouted. Will glanced at him involuntarily, unsure if he had to help Hannibal, hoping against hope that he would manage to stop himself in time even if such impulse appeared. He couldn’t deal with Hannibal now, Reba was more important.

In the next moment Mason started to scream, and Will couldn’t but look at him again.

He expected to see Hannibal tearing pieces off Mason. Or Hannibal stabbing him. Or Hannibal throwing another ax at Mason’s head.

What he didn’t expect was not to see Hannibal at all. Instead Will saw Beverly and Margot turn on Mason, both armed with knives. Mason tried to get away, holding his broken arm awkwardly, but he had no chances.

In a minute everything was over. Margot and Beverly started wiping their hands, business-like, while Tobias crouched near the river, looking over the weapons that were now in their possession.

Mason was dead. Will could see his twisted body, the blood that darkened the grass around him. His own allies, other career tributes, had literally stabbed him in the back, because apparently they believed Mason to be useless now, with his arm broken. He’d had to understand that this was a possibility, yet he’d still chosen to remain by their side. And now he’d paid for it.

Will let himself enjoy the knowledge for a moment, before he turned to Reba again.

Reba wasn’t there any longer.

Immediately alerted, Will scanned the forest and gasped, seeing Reba running away, together with Hannibal, with the bags over their backs.

For a moment the feeling of shock was so strong that Will couldn’t move.

Reba. And Hannibal.   

Together.

He couldn’t believe his eyes. It was impossible. Reba had to know who she was running with, right? She couldn’t have made a mistake, she would have recognized Hannibal immediately, by smell, by sound, by anything! If she was with him, it meant that she _wanted_ to be with him. But why, and why would Hannibal choose to take her with him?

Was Reba his ally, the one he’d been talking about during the interview?

Clenching his jaw, Will adjusted the bag, gripped the ax tighter and followed them, trying to ignore the bodies of Franklyn and Georgia lying on his way, side by side, their eyes vacant, unseeing.

Hannibal’s plan had turned out to be more complicated than Will had expected it to be. He’d never thought Reba might play a part in it. But since Hannibal’s mind was a twisted, dark place, Will couldn’t say he was overly surprised. What he couldn’t understand was why Reba had followed him. Had she made a deal with Hannibal? What kind of deal?

The answers were vague, mocking, out of reach.

Feeling adrenaline course through his veins, Will sped up, trying to figure out where Hannibal and Reba could have gone. He’d seen the direction, but the forest around him was quiet now.

He kept running for several more minutes before stopping, ready to admit defeat. He had no idea where to go. Hannibal could have taken Reba anywhere — the forest was obviously vast, and Will couldn’t run trusting his hunch only.

Clenching his fists in desperate anger, he started to look around, hoping to notice something, anything.

And then he saw it. A piece of dark, green fabric lying on the ground.

Theoretically, it could have been left by anyone. Will hadn’t paid attention to the majority of tributes, he had no idea what happened to them, where they had gone or even how many people had died.

But it seemed too deliberate.

Picking up the piece of the fabric, Will glanced behind. He was sure that if he went back now, carefully watching the ground, he would see other pieces left for him.

Reba wanted him to find her.

Or Hannibal wanted Will to find both of them.

And Will _would_ find them. Oh yes, he would.

And then he would demand answers.

 

 

***

 

 

Will didn’t know how long he was walking. At one point he heard the gunshots, indicating the number of lives lost.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Then silence.

Five tributes dead.

Will wondered about them. He knew that Mason was dead. Gideon, too. Franklyn and Georgia. Who was the fifth?

No matter how long he was walking, he couldn’t see anything but the forest. Sometimes he found more of small pieces of clothes, or branches positioned in a peculiar way, and it helped him make sure that he was going in the right direction.

Will felt that Reba and Hannibal were close. Very close. But he still couldn’t hear anything — it was like he was the only person in this forest.

Ridiculous thought, yet it still made him shiver.

Another gunshot tore through the air. One more life had ended.

Sighing, Will picked up the pace again. He wasn’t tired yet, but he knew the tiredness would come. It was already hovering nearby, fighting with the feeling of shock and trying to push it back.

  Yet even despite the shock, Will had never felt more alive. What happened had only sharpened his senses, and it helped him to walk and not to worry about Reba being dead, or Hannibal killing her as soon as Will reached them.

It would all come. But later. For now the feeling of calm prevailed, and he was grateful for it.

Soon Will started to notice that something was wrong. Maybe the silence became more profound, or the sky above him darkened, but something had definitely changed, so he stopped and listened.

A branch snapped. And… footsteps?

One thing for sure — Will wasn’t alone now.

“Reba?” he called out hesitantly. There was no answer — only another branch crunched, a little closer.

Will hastily moved behind one of the wide trees. His grip on the ax tightened.

It wasn’t the best place for hiding, but he had no idea who had joined him, and where they were now. It wasn’t Reba and it wasn’t Hannibal — so whoever had come was an enemy.

The silence stretched for minutes. Will kept hiding, listening intently. Even with no sounds he could tell that someone was standing close to him, probably waiting for him to come out.

The urge to keep following Hannibal was strong — with every passing second Will felt as if Hannibal was getting farther and farther away, with Reba, and the longer Will spent here, the less chances he would have to catch up with them.

Though if he rushed and got killed, he wouldn’t be able to catch up with them at all.

“Where the hell did he go?” a male voice growled. “Are you sure it was him?”

“Yes!” a female answered nervously. “I’m telling you, it was Graham.”

“If Graham is here, then so is that freaking cannibal. I really don’t want to get eaten today, Cassie.”

“He was alone! I saw that he was alone. Lecter didn’t take Graham with him, he took that blind girl.”

“I don’t like this. At all.”

Will held his breath. Cassie. As in, Cassie Boyle, together with her brother Nicholas. He couldn’t really say anything about this couple, but he had no doubts that given a chance, they would kill him.

“So what, do you want to just leave? He’s here, he’s just hiding.”

“Or maybe he’s already gone. Or maybe it’s a ruse and Lecter is here as well. You know what kind of monster he is, Cassie, you saw what he did to Prurnell.”

“Well, that bitch had it coming. She blew cigarette smoke in Lecter’s face at the training centre, so I’m surprised he didn’t kill her sooner.”

“Just be grateful that we are still alive,” Nicholas grumbled. “We shouldn’t chase Graham, we should worry about our own safety.”

“Whatever,” Cassie snapped.

Crunching of branches signified that they were walking away, and Will relaxed. Enemies or not, he wasn’t sure he would be able to kill someone. Even if they tried to kill him.

Or would he?

Taking a deep breath, Will returned to the path he’d abandoned and resumed walking. The density of the forest protected him against the sun, but it also made it difficult to say what time it was. How long had he been walking? Why was he still unable to catch up with Hannibal? He’d started running almost as soon as he saw Hannibal and Reba disappear behind the trees. Was he really that slow? Or were they that quick?

After one more hour Will suddenly realized how thirsty he was. He also remembered that he still hadn’t looked at the contents of the bag he’d managed to grab.

Curious, he took it off his shoulders and peered inside.

A small knife, several pieces of dark bread, a bottle of weird pink water and a small object that Will couldn’t identify. 

It was better that he’d expected, but it also brought some suspicions to his mind. Why was the water pink? Will had never seen anything like that before. Was it poisoned? Could the Gamekeepers poison the tributes deliberately, by placing dangerous things into the bags?

He didn’t know the answer, and he wasn’t thirsty enough to risk and find out.

Another fifteen minutes — and Will’s heart jumped when he heard the unmistakable sounds of the stream.

Water. The real water was close. He hadn’t encountered hints from Reba in a while, and even though it could mean anything in the world, Will chose to believe that Reba wanted to tell him that he was almost there. He had almost reached her. He had almost reached _them_.

Staying near the stream was the wisest choice. It was far away from the launch platform, there were places where they could hide, and they would have supplies.

It actually seemed too good to be true.

Soon Will started to hear the voices. At first he wasn’t sure, but then Reba’s angry tones reached his ears, and he sped up, suddenly dizzyingly, overwhelmingly relieved.

“I told you we should have left something else! What if he didn’t see it, what if he went some other way?”

“William will be here, Ms. McClane. Soon.”

“How can you know?”

 “Reba!” Will called out. At first there was silence, and then he heard how Reba broke into a run, moving blindly toward the sound of his voice.

Will caught her halfway, pulling her to his chest and rubbing his cheek against her dark hair, comforting and seeking comfort.

“Thank God!” Reba cried out. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t find us! I would have never forgiven myself.”

“It’s okay. Everything’s fine, we are here together now,” Will murmured. However, he was immediately distracted by Hannibal who slowly approached them, wearing an inscrutable mask. Only his eyes glistened, in relief, in annoyance, in pleasure — Will couldn’t tell.

“It’s good that you finally decided to join us, Will,” Hannibal said mildly. “I began to wonder myself.”

“Was it your plan? To take Reba with you and to make me chase you?”

Hannibal didn’t answer — just continued to watch him, drinking him in, making Will feel weirdly… excited? Uncomfortable?

“I’ll explain everything,” Reba said, pulling away. “But later. We’ve found a small cave. Let’s go in there, so nobody would see us.”

Will followed, sending Hannibal a glare.

The cave was hidden smartly. Reba and Will went inside while Hannibal remained near the water, apparently giving them a chance to talk.

“Why did you go with him?” Will asked immediately. “You didn’t even warn me. Do you have any idea what I felt, seeing you run away with him?”

“I’ll explain everything,” Reba repeated. “But not now. And please, don’t ask Hannibal. This is my story to tell, and I will tell it when I feel ready. When I feel that _you_ are ready.”

“Ready? Ready for what?”

“To listen, and to understand. Just know that he hasn’t made me do anything, I made that decision myself.”

There was a strange urgency in Reba’s voice. Will wanted to ask million questions, but something stopped him.

He wasn’t the one to push. He would wait, and he would listen.

But Hannibal _would_ answer his questions. No matter what Reba had to say about that.     

 

 


	7. Falling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! So sorry for such a delayed chapter - but it's pretty long :) A lot of things happen here, so I hope you'll enjoy it. 
> 
> The next chapter - the emergence of dark Will. Well, sort of :) 
> 
> Thank you all so very, very much for all your wonderful words and kudos! I appreciate every one of them, they mean a lot to me.

When the sky outside darkened and Reba’s eyes began to close, Will quietly left the cave. He immediately started to search for Hannibal, and some knot within him loosened when he saw him standing near the stream, contemplating the dark water. 

Without saying a word, Will approached him.

“Is Reba asleep already?” Hannibal asked.

“Yes,” Will said curtly. “Or she will be in the next few moments — unless someone attacks us.”

“They won’t,” Hannibal stated confidently. “I believe we are safe for tonight. Other tributes will take their time getting used to the surroundings, so this night we won’t be bothered. We’ll still keep watch, of course.”

“Of course,” Will echoed. They stood in silence for a while, before Hannibal said in a strangely soft voice, “It’s good to see you here, Will.”

“Did you doubt I’d come?” Will raised an eyebrow. “Why? After all, you did everything in your power to ensure it. You manipulated Reba because you knew she was the only thing that would make me follow you.”

“Would you have followed me anyway if Reba didn’t exist?” Genuine curiosity sounded in Hannibal’s words, and Will frowned.

“No,” he uttered. “Not after you killed a man. Before that — maybe. But not after.”

“You’ll have to be more specific,” Hannibal’s gaze cooled down considerably. “What man do you mean? I killed more than one. I killed the latest to protect you.”

“I’m aware. And thank you… for that,” Will shifted awkwardly. “But you know very well who I’m talking about. He was innocent.”

Hannibal suddenly moved toward him, and Will stepped back instinctively, wary.

It actually seemed to annoy Hannibal.

“If I was going to kill you, Will, you wouldn’t know about it until the very last moment.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“I can make you a promise,” Hannibal stepped even closer, and this time Will didn’t move away. Warm hand touched his face, so faintly that it resembled a touch by a ghost. “Whilst Reba lives, you have nothing to fear from me. And I won’t touch her either.”

“I’m not sure how to feel about that,” Will murmured. Hannibal’s close presence was rapidly affecting him, making his head spin. “You did so many things that I can’t understand. You nearly got me maimed — or killed — by Mason and Tobias. You manipulated Reba. You killed a good, innocent man whose death...”

“Call him by name.”

“What?”

“Call him by name. The man who you claim I killed,” Hannibal pushed him slightly, pressing him against the tree. “So I could be absolutely sure we are talking about the same person.”

“That’s ridiculous, you know very well who I’m talking about.”

“Indulge me. Say his name.”

Will pressed his lips together tightly and kept silent. Hannibal let out a small laugh.

“You are protecting me,” he whispered, his eyes shining with satisfaction and wonder. “You don’t want the Gamekeepers to hear the name because you think they might still punish me for killing him.”

“You are intolerable,” Will hissed. “If you want to get yourself killed after all your careful planning, then go right ahead, but leave me out of it.”

Pushing him way, Will moved back toward the cave, but Hannibal’s strong hands caught him once again, enveloping him from behind. Fed up with being grabbed, Will turned and punched Hannibal in the face.

Hannibal obviously hadn’t expected it. He reeled away, touching his bloodied lip, and the expression on his face was so astonished that Will almost laughed.

Almost.

“Okay,” Hannibal said slowly. “It seems I have somewhat miscalculated.”

“Stop playing games with me. And stop grabbing me, because it’s unnerving.”

“You never cease to amaze me, Will,” Hannibal bowed his head, as if acknowledging him — or trying to hide a smile. “Fine. Do you wish to go back to the cave?”

“Yes,” Will replied immediately, but he didn’t move, not even when Hannibal raised his eyebrows mockingly.

“I see,” he murmured. “Well, then, how about talking for a little bit? And I promise I won’t touch you unless you want me to.”

“Too many promises for such a short amount of time,” Will grumbled. “It’s suspicious.”

Hannibal sighed.

“I hoped saving Reba would prove to you that my intentions are not entirely malicious.”

“I think ‘saving’ is a little far-fetched. Will you tell me how you managed to make her agree to your plan?”

“She wanted to tell you herself,” Hannibal reminded. “It wouldn’t be right to betray her trust.”

Will laughed, rubbing his face in amused frustration. Hannibal was surprisingly moral for a killer — and for a cannibal. It didn’t make much sense, but then again, with Hannibal it never did.

“I saw a few bags in the cave,” Will said instead. “What’s inside?”

“There is some food and warm clothes. I gave the clothes to Reba, but if you are hungry, you can take some of the food.”

“I think we shouldn’t eat today. The real hunger will come tomorrow, until then it’d be better to save the food we have.”

“As you wish,” Hannibal replied.

Nodding, Will walked to the stream and lowered himself onto the ground. He didn’t need to turn to know that Hannibal followed him, taking a place nearby.

They sat in silence for what seemed like hours. It wasn’t an awkward type of silence — on the contrary, it was surprisingly friendly and comfortable. Will felt like his mind separated from his body and began conversing with Hannibal’s mind — like in this silence, he was getting to know Hannibal much better than he would have during any real conversation.

He only hoped that Hannibal felt the same.

When the stars finally conquered the nocturnal sky, a loud music sounded, shattering the beautiful silence and making Will jump.

“Phantoms,” Hannibal explained. “It must be around midnight.”

“I hate this part.”

“Why? It’s useful. We can learn how many tributes are still in the game.”

“Still, I don’t think I’ll like seeing the images of the dead,” Will shuddered. His imagination often presented him with ugly pictures, but seeing the real images of real people somehow seemed scarier.

Mason was the first to appear. His ghostly silhouette stood right in front of them, and Will stared at him uncomfortably.

Mason was a disgusting individual. But still… seeing him dead, it changed something. Mason wasn’t some grotesque embodiment of evil, he was real, and he must have had good sides, even though Will had no idea what sides that could be.

It was sad, in a strange way. Will wasn’t sorry he was dead, but he still mourned the loss of a life of someone he knew.    

The next one to appear was Franklyn, and Will quickly counted the districts. So, Beverly, Tobias, Margot, Jack and Phyllis were all alive. Bedelia had also obviously managed to survive, without Hannibal or Abel helping her.

It wasn’t surprising. Interesting, how many tributes today had been waiting for the phantoms, hoping to see Hannibal among dead? Hannibal was a terrifying opponent, and for a moment Will felt a ridiculous amount of affection.

A terrifying opponent who chose to stay with him.

At least for now.

“Do you feel sorrier for Mason than for Franklyn?”

Hannibal’s puzzled voice instantly attracted Will’s attention.

“What?” he asked.

“You seem indifferent about Franklyn, but when Mason appeared, you looked almost sympathetic. Which is strange, considering how Mason treated you.”

“Exactly,” Will said, watching the phantom of Kade Prurnell materialize in front of him. “Mason is more real to me than Franklyn. I actually interacted with him, while all I remember about Franklyn is how he cheerfully talked to some of the other tributes.”

Hannibal hummed thoughtfully, but didn’t say a word. Abel Gideon appeared after Kade, and Will shuddered, seeing his mocking smile even on the phantom’s translucent face.

“Is it weird for you?” he wondered aloud. “Seeing the images of people you killed.”

“No,” Hannibal tilted his head, watching the phantom. “They are all dead in my mind already. Have been since the very beginning, so no, I’m not affected.”

“Am I also dead in your mind?” Will couldn’t help asking.

A small frown crossed Hannibal’s forehead. The dark shadow of uncertainty that flashed in his eyes, lightened by the phantom’s bluish glow, felt like a victory.

So even though Hannibal indented to kill him at one point, he was bothered by the idea of it.

Interesting.

The doppelganger of Alana Bloom came next, and Will stared at her for a moment.

“I know when she was killed,” he said. “I heard the gunshot, it wasn’t far from here.”

“Maybe she has fallen a victim to brother and sister,” Hannibal suggested. “You said you heard them — they were hunting you.”

“Maybe,” thinking about that time suddenly sent shivers down Will’s spine. Had he really been that close to death? It hadn’t seemed real then, but now, sitting in the dark, Will experienced a wave of crushing, intense fear.

He wasn’t safe. He wasn’t, not for a moment, even though sitting with Hannibal here, in front of the calm stream, felt so good.

He shouldn’t forget. Not ever.

Georgia from District Ten was the last to appear. Will didn’t know her, but he still felt a twinge of regret. Such young, lovely looking girl shouldn’t have died here. No one should have died here, because of the Games, not even Mason.

“Would you like to return to the cave?” Hannibal inquired. “It is late. I believe we should sleep while we still can — tomorrow will last for a very long time.”

“Okay,” Will stood up, looking around them carefully. Suddenly the stream stopped looking friendly, and the night forest started to seem more and more menacing.

When they entered the cave, Reba was still sleeping, lying on two bags, all snuggled up in warm clothes. She looked so peaceful and fragile that Will stopped to admire her for a few moments.

“We have to figure out our sleeping arrangements,” Hannibal said, casually stepping into his line of view. “Reba has taken the clothes, so you and I will have to stay together at night.”

“What?” Will blinked, and Hannibal looked at him with fond irritation, as if Will was being unreasonable.

“They use artificial cold at night,” he explained. “I assume you already feel it, since your skin has been covered with goosebumps for the last fifteen minutes.”

Will glanced at his skin briefly. Now that Hannibal said it, he realized that he was indeed cold, like it was November already. He also remembered the way tributes usually clung to their clothes desperately, trying to get warm during the night. Some of them couldn’t bear it, so they lit the fire, which usually resulted in their deaths.

Still, what did Hannibal mean by staying together at night?

“There is one more bag left,” Hannibal took the bag and positioned it against the wall. “I’ll be the first to keep watch. I’ll wake you up in three hours.”

“Do you really think we’ll manage not to freeze to death by sharing body heat? And what does it entail — cuddling?”

“I’d choose a less offensive word, but in essence — yes. That will certainly help to some extent.”

Cuddling with a cannibal who still planned to kill him one day.

Well, Hannibal did make a promise.

The idea of sharing body heat seemed pretty ridiculous to Will, and he doubted it would help, but something about being so close to Hannibal, for the entire night, sent shivers of pleasure through him.

Maybe he truly was a masochist.

Hannibal was the first to settle, leaning against the bag. Will sat down, uncomfortable and eager simultaneously.

‘ _Don’t overthink it_ ,’ he told himself. Taking a deep breath, he shifted until his body was mostly pressed to Hannibal’s side and laid his head on his shoulder.

Hannibal’s hand slowly wrapped around his shoulders, and Will sighed, feeling warmer.

“I don’t trust you,” he stated. Then he fell asleep.

 

 

***

 

 

When Will woke up, it was morning. The stream was dimly lit by the sun, so it was probably around seven. To his surprise, he realized that he was still lying in the same position he had fallen asleep, with his head still on Hannibal’s shoulder and Hannibal’s hand still wrapped around him.

What the hell happened to waking him up in three hours?

Blinking, Will moved carefully, wondering if Hannibal was really sleeping or pretending for some reason, when Reba’s voice whispered, “Good morning.”

“Oh!” his eyes immediately went to her. “Sorry, you scared me. Is everything all right?”

“Yes,” Reba brushed her hair out of her face, looking distracted. “I fell asleep early, so I woke up in the middle of the night. It was cold as hell. I offered Hannibal to keep watch and he agreed — it’s better than waking you, I know how irritated you can be when you don’t get enough sleep.”

“How can you know that?” Will chuckled, and a sad smile briefly touched Reba’s face.

“Besides watching you in the Centre for weeks?” she tried to smile. “Actually, I know quite a lot about you. I used to follow you around in our District, you just never saw me.”

“You did?” Will frowned. He couldn’t remember it. Right now he didn’t remember almost anything about his life in District Nine — only flashes.

He remembered his desire to belong somewhere. His bitterness when his awkward attempts at conversation got rejected.

He remembered the forest — and the stream, of course. His stream. But apart from that, what had he been doing all these years? Had they really been so empty?

Would he want to go back to that life, if he could?

“Never mind,” Reba turned away. “It was quiet at night, nobody bothered us. But I’m not sure how much longer we can stay here — the Gamekeepers don’t like it when tributes stay in the same place for days.”

“They really don’t,” Hannibal’s voice answered. Will looked at him, astonished by a surge of warmth that enveloped him the moment Hannibal’s eyes settled on him.

“Good morning, Will,” he said softly, and Will’s heart fluttered.

“Good morning,” he murmured.

Reba’s loud sigh broke the intense silence.

“Are we going to stay here for today?” she asked. “We’ll have to decide what amount of food we can allow ourselves, and if the area is still safe.”

“I’d prefer it if we stayed here for today, yes,” Hannibal said. “Tomorrow, we will leave. It’d be better to give other tributes one more day to kill each other before we make our move.”

“Do we have a move planned?” Will drawled. “I wasn’t aware of it.”

Hannibal’s eyes went back to him, caressing his skin with their fondness.

“You’ll see,” was all he said.

They spent the next hour sorting through food and clothes, trying to divide all that into portions.

“We have to get as much water as we can before we leave,” Hannibal said. “This stream might be the only source of water, apart from the river we saw.”

“I found a bottle of strange something,” Will remembered. “It’s still in my backpack.”

Grabbing the bag, Will took a bottle out of it and demonstrated it to Hannibal.

“Pink water,” he explained to Reba. “I wasn’t sure if it was safe to drink it, so I didn’t. Maybe we shouldn’t risk — we can empty it and fill it with the water from the stream instead.”

“It’s poisonous,” Hannibal said, sniffing the water. “I have never encountered such poison before, but they warned us about it in the Centre. It kills instantly.”

“Really?” Will stared at him, wide-eyed. “I… don’t remember.”

“Of course you don’t. You preferred to spend all your time fishing.”

Will shrugged.

“I wasn’t expecting to survive even the first day,” he said. “Filling my head with unnecessary knowledge didn’t seem important.”

“Then you are lucky I am here,” Hannibal remarked casually. When Will said nothing, he added, “We will keep the poison for now. It might come in handy. Reba,” Hannibal turned to her, “Will and I are going to inspect the perimeter. You’ll stay here. Do you still have the gun?”

“Yes,” Reba pulled a small revolver out of her pocket, and Will stared at it in shock.

“We have a gun?” he exclaimed.

“Only one bullet inside, though,” Reba stated grimly. “It was in one of the backpacks Hannibal managed to take.”

“One bullet is still good enough,” Hannibal uttered. “Stay with the gun and listen very carefully. When we approach the cave, we’ll call you. If you hear someone’s footsteps and no one says anything, shoot them without thinking.”

“Okay,” Reba said softly. Will frowned, not sure if he liked this idea. Leaving Reba alone was dangerous — but being in the cave was probably safer than outside, where he and Hannibal were going.

“She’ll be fine,” Hannibal said, catching his anxious glance. “And we do need to check the territory.”

The farther away they were getting from the cave, the tenser Will was becoming. He didn’t feel any danger, but suspiciousness remained. The forest was dim because of the thick crowns of stately trees that refused to let the bright sunbeams in. There were a lot of places to hide here, and Will watched every tree, expecting someone to appear.

There was no one. They finally stopped at the small clearing, staring at the surface that was covered with round red buttons. When Will tried to pick one up, he realized all of them were deeply planted into the ground.

“I could make some fishing lures out of them,” he said. “I’ve never seen such things before, though.”

“I believe they were placed here for you,” Hannibal noted. “There are possibly several clearings like this one in the forest, created specifically for your preferences.”

“So they are safe?”

Hannibal sat down and touched one of the buttons with his fingers. He smelled them and then stood up again.

“I think they are safe, yes,” he stated. “Can you dig them out?”

“Yes,” Will assessed the ground critically. “But it’ll take some time.”   

Hannibal looked over the forest slowly, clearly thinking about something.

“Fine,” he said finally. “Stay here and fish several out. I’ll go check the bushes.”

“Bushes, what bushes?” Will glanced at the tall trees that surrounded them. He didn’t see anything else, and the idea of separating made him instantly anxious again.

“It smells like berries here,” Hannibal explained. “A very familiar smell, I encountered it in my District.”

The berries?

“I can’t smell anything,” Will admitted after a moment of trying. Hannibal only smiled at him.

“I know,” he said. “I’m often told I have an acute sense of smell.”

“Yes, but… you can smell berries from here? Are you sure it is a real smell, and not just the smell of something you wish to eat?”

Hannibal stared at Will as if it was the most idiotic thing he had ever heard.

“I do not eat berries,” he said slowly. “I usually make a sauce out of them. And I can definitely tell the difference between the fantasy and the real thing.”

“Fine, go check your berries,” Will snapped, trying to hide his embarrassment. He still didn’t want to be left alone, but on the other hand, he didn’t need Hannibal to protect him. It was dangerous to depend on the notion of safety he started to feel in Hannibal’s company, because in the end, Will had only himself to trust.

Well, and Reba.

“I won’t be far,” Hannibal murmured, touching his hair briefly. When Will just frowned, he smiled again fleetingly and disappeared behind the trees.

   A strange, hollow silence filled the air. Will tried to concentrate on digging out the weird red objects, but different thoughts kept pulling his attention away.

He would be easily able to make the fishing lures, but what about the actual fishing rod? The stick part would be easy, but the cord?

And Hannibal. Hannibal seemed to know everything. He always acted in a superior, mysterious way, but in the long run, Hannibal was just a person. He wasn’t invincible. Anything could happen to him, and his plans weren’t going to always work. And anyway, why couldn’t Hannibal wait for him to finish digging up these stupid buttons before going to his bushes with berries? Will didn’t like being separated. It was unsafe. It was lonely. It was…

The crunch of the branch right behind him made him whirl around, and in the next moment someone attacked him. Will raised his hand in an instinctual attempt to protect himself, and a sharp blade slashed his palm open. His attacker pushed him onto his back — Will managed to see a flash of long, dark hair, and the realization hit him instantly.

  Cassie Boyle. For some reason she’d chosen him as her intended victim starting from yesterday, and now she was clearly hoping to finish her failed attempt.

Cassie’s excited face was right above him. With a triumphant cry, she tried to stab him with her knife again, but Will easily caught her arm. He didn’t even have to work hard to push her away — Cassie was slim and short, and not as strong as she believed.

The moment she fell on the ground, Will wrenched the knife from her hands and stepped on her hand in warning.

“Don’t move,” he said coldly. “I have no desire to hurt you, but I will if you force me.”

Cassie quieted, staring at him. There was so much hatred in her eyes that for a short second, Will felt dumbfounded.

What the hell had he ever done to her? They’d never communicated directly, they stayed out of each other’s way. So where was this kind of blind hatred coming from?

“I want you to get up and walk away,” he continued. “I promise that I won’t follow you. I want nothing from you, so just leave me alone — while you still can.”

Cassie nodded sharply. After one more moment, Will stepped away from her, but he kept watching her warily. Cassie got up, her breathing heavy. Then, as if coming to a decision, she lunged at him again with another cry, this time armed only with her fists.

Will grabbed her by the neck, flinging her toward the tree. The knife was still in his hands, and he pointed it at Cassie.

“Are you suicidal?” he asked incredulously. “Do you realize that I can kill you if you keep doing this? You are not strong enough to take me, so just stop and leave! Go find your brother!”

“You are a coward,” Cassie spat. She pushed off the tree and started circling him slowly. “You can’t hurt a fly, you fucking stupid fisherman. Only a sissy would spend all his time with fish instead of training like a man, so guess what? I’m not afraid of you. Even with the knife, you can do nothing.”

“I can,” Hannibal’s voice sounded. Cassie jumped and started to turn around, but before she could do it, Hannibal’s hands wrapped around her neck and twisted it abruptly. Casually dropping the lifeless body on the ground, he approached Will.

“Let me see your hand,” he said. Behind them, a gunshot sounded, and soon Cassie’s body was picked up and taken up in the air, slowly disappearing from view. Will watched her go, while Hannibal was hovering over his bleeding hand.

“It’s okay,” he said finally. “It doesn’t hurt much.”

“It should,” Hannibal replied, frowning. “It’s a nasty cut. I saw some leaves near the berries — they can accelerate the healing process. Come with me.”

“Wait, I’ve almost finished with these things, whatever they are.” Will bent and tore two of the red buttons from the ground with his good hand. Hannibal examined them and nodded.

“We’ll get you a fishing rod,” he said. “But first, we have to take care of your wound.”

Will rolled his eyes, but said nothing.

Soon Hannibal led him to another small clearing, all crowded with bushes and berries.

“So you were right,” Will couldn’t hide admiration in his voice. “There really are berries, and you did smell them. That’s amazing.”

A pleased expression flickered on Hannibal’s face.

“Thank you,” he said stiffly, like he was unsure of what to do with the compliment. Will smiled, both amused and touched.

He sat on the grass while Hannibal was picking the right leaves. They all looked the same to Will, but it was interesting to watch how carefully and methodically Hannibal was sorting through them. All in all, he was a brilliant man. Bloodthirsty, but, well… Will supposed he couldn’t blame him for it — at least not here.

He deliberately refused to think about Peter. That nightmarish chest had to stay closed.

Hannibal finally went back to him and started rolling the leaves together, before cautiously pressing them to Will’s wound. The wet blood worked like glue, and Will grimaced, watching how sparkling green color was quickly replaced with thick red.

“Why didn’t you kill her?” Hannibal asked. “The Boyle girl. I don’t understand it. She would have killed you, and you know it.”

“I know,” Will agreed. “But I already told you. I don’t want to take anyone’s life. They are not mine to dispose of, and I’m not going to let the Games change my beliefs.”

“You do realize that it’s ridiculous?” Hannibal kept his voice even, but Will still sensed the displeasure in it. “You are in a place that has very strict rules. If you refuse to kill, you will be killed yourself.”

“I never expected to live long once I was chosen,” Will said. “So it doesn’t matter.”

Hannibal’s grip on his hand tightened.

“I don’t like it when you say things like that,” he said tensely. “Suicidal tendencies annoy me.”

“I understand why,” Will smiled, trying to ease the tension. “You are full of life. You thrive on your desire and willingness to live. I’m not the same. I like life, and I don’t want to die, but I know my priorities. Dying is less abhorrent to me than the necessity to kill someone.”

“You killed the Brokens.”

“Don’t remind me,” Will closed his eyes. “It was a mistake, I know. But at least they died as happy as they could get under such circumstances. It was the least I could give them.”

When something wet brushed against his lips, he flinched and his eyes flew open.

Hannibal was pressing several bright red berries to his mouth, watching him with a slight tilt to his head. Hesitating briefly, Will accepted them, right from Hannibal’s hands.

The moment felt oddly intimate. All conversations ceased, and it was like only the two of them were left in the whole world. Hannibal offered another portion of berries to him, and Will took them from his fingers, feeling unusually brazen. Desire welled up within him, melting the edges of his body, and Will leaned closer, enjoying the sweet taste of berries but wanting to feel something else — to taste Hannibal’s mouth instead. There was no logic, no rationality to his desire. There was only a spontaneous, aching need.

A gunshot that tore through the air shook him to the core. Will jumped up, staring in the direction of the sound, thinking _Reba_ , and _Cassie’s brother_ , and _how could I be so careless_.

Another gunshot sounded, this one a little different.

“Reba is fine,” Hannibal’s voice was the only thing that brought Will back, anchoring him.

“What?” he gasped.

“She is fine. The first gunshot we heard was from Reba’s revolver.”

“How can you know?”

“You would know too, if you weren’t panicking.”

“We have to go back. We have to go back, now.”

Hannibal didn’t argue. He quickly filled the backpack with berries and leaves, and they moved quickly toward the cave.

By the time they saw their stream, Will was almost running. He could think of nothing but Reba, and the fact that she could have been killed because of his selfishness, because he was so hung up on Hannibal that he forgot about Nicholas Boyle who had to be lurking nearby.

“Reba, it’s us,” Hannibal called out. Will’s heart threatened to jump out of his chest, but then Reba’s familiar voice answered, “I’m okay.”

“Reba!” Will flew into the cave and froze, seeing blood stains on the ground. “What happened?” he demanded. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” Reba raised her hand, and when Will approached her, squeezing her palm, she relaxed. “I don’t even know what happened. I don’t know who I… killed,” her voice wavered, but didn’t break. “I heard someone walking to the stream. They said nothing. I called you by your names, then — I know it’s foolish, but I had to be absolutely sure. There was still no answer, so when I felt that person enter the cave, I pulled the trigger. And they… they died. I heard the noise — the noise of their body being taken away.”

“It was Nicholas Boyle,” Will said grimly. “At least I think it was him. His sister attacked us and we had to kill her.”

Will saw Hannibal throw an interested glance at him, but he paid him no mind.

“I didn’t want to kill him,” Reba whispered. Tears were frozen in her brown eyes, making them glassy. “I wouldn’t have killed him, but he came here himself.”

“It’s okay,” Will whispered back. He pulled Reba slightly to him, offering the embrace but not insisting on it. Reba, however, didn’t mind — she readily dived into his arms and sighed, hiding her face in his chest.

Hannibal watched them. Catching his unreadable gaze, Will nodded at the stream, silently asking for privacy.

Narrowing his eyes, Hannibal complied.

 

 

***

 

 

“When Hannibal approached me, I understood very little,” Reba was saying. They were still sitting in the cave, even though the sky outside began to darken. Hannibal was busy with fire near the stream, lighting it and then checking how visible the smoke form it was in the twilight.

“When he started talking,” Reba continued, “things finally started to make sense. He deliberately set you up with Mason and Tobias, but it wasn’t to hurt you — it was to test me. He left that letter for me, with warning. Remember?”

“Yes,” Will said quietly.

“He wanted to make sure that I would help you, even though the odds weren’t in my favor. He wanted to know if I could be trusted with your safety.”

“That plan was still risky and dangerous,” Will found it difficult to understand what he felt, but his voice sounded all wrong. “What could you do against Mason and Tobias? What if you didn’t notice the note at all? One of us could die — or even the both of us.”

“Yes, Hannibal was risking,” Reba shook her head, smiling absently. “I was ready to kill him when I realized what he’s done. But even with his unpredictability and his dubious morals, he was still the best chance of saving you.”

“Save me from what?”

“From the Games.”

“I don’t understand,” Will stared at her. “No one is safe from the Games.” 

“Yeah,” Reba agreed, “but with Hannibal, your chances of surviving are considerably higher. That’s what he offered to me. Your safety. Well, and my own by association. Hannibal knew you would never go with him without me, and that you wouldn’t trust him with my safety, so I did it myself, Will. I chose to trust him.”

“It makes no sense,” Will shook his head. “Hannibal has already proved that he would be willing to let both of us die for his own amusement. Why trust him? We could have run together, Reba, or you could have just told me about what you planned with Hannibal.”

“I thought about it,” Reba leaned against the wall, staring at the ceiling. “I don’t think we could have really run, Will. We would have been killed. We were both perceived as weak, and without a strong tribute supporting us, we would have immediately become a target.”

“But why haven’t you told me?”

“Because you would have tried to change my mind, and because I could see what you couldn’t.”

“Like what?”

“Hannibal is in love with you.”

Will reeled away, feeling a burning sensation that instantly hit his cheeks.

“He is not,” he said hoarsely. Reba smiled, tilting her head to the side.

“He is,” she murmured softly. “It becomes obvious with every day. And not only in love — he is obsessed with you. I don’t know what he felt when he decided to set you up with Mason and Tobias, when he wrote that note for me, but he did come to your rescue. And when he talked to me after that, I could hear everything he thought he could hide from me. He was genuinely worried about you. Maybe initially he created his plan for his own amusement, but Mason and Tobias’ attack has affected him. It was unbearable for him to think of your death, I could feel it. So I believed that he genuinely wanted to protect you.”

“People don’t fall in love in places like this one, Reba,” Will objected weakly. “And people like Hannibal can’t fall in love at all.”

“Maybe,” Reba squeezed his hand, much stronger this time. “But whatever he feels for you, it’s as close to love as he can experience. When we ran away, and I left all those little pieces for you to track us, Hannibal kept asking about you. He wanted to know everything, and I think that if you were to call his name, he would have turned and dashed toward you in a blink. I don’t know what you feel to him, Will, and even if you aren’t interested in him like that, you can pretend. Pretend, to ensure your protection. Because he _will_ protect you, as long as he feels at least a slight chance of reciprocity.”

Will said nothing. His thoughts were racing, and a vague warm feeling in his stomach started to gain contours, frightening with its sudden intensity and longing.

Oh, how much he wanted Reba’s words to be true.

The thought was startling. The truthfulness of it took Will aback, and he sat frozen for several moments, trying to comprehend what was happening to him.

As always, he couldn’t name a single emotion that was raging within him, so he soon abandoned his efforts to find the clarity. There was only one thing he knew: he wanted — _needed_ — to go to Hannibal.

Clearing his throat, Will murmured, “Thank you. I… just thanks.”

“Any time,” Reba grinned. Smiling back at her, Will pulled her into a tight embrace, and then stood up.

“I have to talk to him,” he said uncomfortably. “So… will you be all right here by yourself?”

“Oh, just go already,” Reba rolled her eyes.

He didn’t need to be asked twice.

As soon as he walked out of the cave, Will saw that Hannibal was sitting near the smoldering coals, warming his hands.

For a moment, a feeling of embarrassment flooded him, but then Hannibal raised his head, and the way his eyes warmed when he saw him gave Will the bravery he needed.

Smiling almost shyly, he lowered himself onto the ground near Hannibal, as close as he could allow himself. 

“Hey,” he murmured. “So you did manage to light the fire?”

“Only temporary,” Hannibal pushed down on the elbow and propped his head on his hand, watching Will curiously. “So the smoke wouldn’t be too visible to other tributes.”

“How do you know so many things about survival?” Will wondered. “You spent you life in District Three, in luxury, in comparison to other tributes. Well, apart from other career ones,” he grimaced.

“The Games were always a possibility,” Hannibal answered. “I wanted to be prepared. And even though District Three has enough food, the competition is fierce, and levels of aggression are excessive. To survive, I had to fight others, every day. This is what makes the career tributes stronger on the arena. By the time they are chosen, they have already fought hundreds, sometimes to death.”

“I… never thought of this,” Will stared at him with wide eyes. Hannibal was talking calmly, but his expression became closed off, as if even remembering was extremely unpleasant.

“It’s understandable,” Hannibal shrugged. “I imagine your conditions of life were still much worse than mine.”            

          “I mostly lived in the forest,” Will admitted. “People were rude and ignorant, desperate to somehow survive, so I spent the majority of time behind the fence, near my stream.”

“Fishing,” Hannibal suggested, in a voice that was like molten silver. Will smiled widely, almost against his will.

“Fishing,” he agreed quietly.

 The following silence between them was warm. They didn’t talk any longer, but Hannibal’s eyes were glued to him, intense, with barely contained greed.

Will felt high, suddenly. High on the knowledge that he had some power over this man, on the realization that his conflicted feelings were not one-sided, not by a long shot.

Not giving himself time to change his mind, he moved closer to Hannibal. When Hannibal didn’t move, just gazed at him, intrigued, Will gently touched the corner of his split lip, still bruised after his yesterday’s punch.

Nothing happened. Hannibal was frozen, and it felt like he wasn’t even breathing, afraid that any movement would scare Will away.

Not this time.

Without hesitating, Will leaned even closer, so their noses touched. It was dark already, but he could still see every line of the face in front of him, severe yet trusting.

Closing his eyes, he traced Hannibal’s lower lip with his own lips, before pulling it into his mouth. Hannibal immediately answered the kiss, holding him by his neck and nipping at his upper lip with intensity that left Will floored. Instinctively, he angled his body toward Hannibal’s, feeling his hardness against his stomach, feeling his own answering hardness. His stomach was weightless, his skin feverish, and every cell of his body was screaming, begging for fulfillment.

Soon Hannibal’s tongue slipped into his mouth, tracing every line it could find, and Will mindlessly pressed to his body even more tightly, absorbing his warmth. He wasn’t sure how it happened, but at some point Hannibal’s hands wrapped around his waist and laid him on his back, pressing him to the ground, his lips still devouring his mouth greedily.

Will moaned, not caring if they had an audience, not caring that Reba could probably hear them. His hips rolled forward, rubbing against Hannibal, and Hannibal’s hips jerked in response. Holding him by the hair, he forcefully tilted Will’s head even farther back, deepening the kiss and gaining more access to his mouth.

The delicious pleasure threatened to overwhelm him. Layers and layers of pleasure kept accumulating, and soon Will melted in the sensations, kissing mindlessly and jerking his hips forward uncontrollably.

An almost violent pleasure tore through him. The pressure intensified, the tingling got unbearable, and then his body was shaking, experiencing wave after wave of relief.

Will hardly noticed anything else. He kept his eyes closed, feeling how Hannibal was kissing his hair, his forehead, his eyes, his cheeks and his lips — everything he could reach.

When Will finally looked up, his vision was hazy. There was an uncomfortable wetness in his pants, but he felt too lazy to care.

Hannibal was flushed, his eyes burning in a way that made Will’s heart skip a beat — again.

Absently, Will tugged at his sleeve, silently offering to join him, and Hannibal lied down near him, right on the ground. Enveloped in a warm, comfortable embrace, Will closed his eyes again in bliss.

Neither hidden cameras, nor the semi-unpleasant sensation in his pants mattered to him at this point. The coals left from the fire were barely warm now, but they still lulled him to sleep — so Will slept, feeling sated and genuinely happy.

When he woke up the first time, his mind was slow and still hazy. He sleepily noted that someone — _Hannibal_ , had wrapped him up in warm clothes. The clothes belonged to Reba, according to their mutual agreement, so Will glanced at the cave. Reba and Hannibal were talking, with surprisingly grim and serious faces. Drowsily, Will wondered what could have possibly happened to result in such tension between them, but sleep was taking him again, and he succumbed to it.

The next time he woke up, Hannibal was lying next to him, hugging him again. Will sighed in pleasure, pressing closer to him and shutting his eyes.

A minute passed, maybe more. And then he heard a gunshot.

He didn’t have to look. The sickening dread that filled him was already an answer.

Reba was dead.   


	8. Killing. Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello :) I apologize for the long delay - I was very distracted this month. Now I'm back! This chapter is divided into two parts - I plan to finish and post the second part in the beginning of the next week. 
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy it! Thank you so much for your comments and your support!

Will jumped to his feet, forcefully tearing himself from Hannibal’s embrace, and ran to the cave. Reba was lying on the floor, with an almost peaceful expression on her face. She appeared to be sleeping, and for a moment Will’s chest filled with weak hope. His hands trembling, he touched her face — still warm, still soft, yet so completely, so utterly motionless.

She wasn’t breathing. She wasn’t moving. A bottle with the remains of pink water was lying under her arm, and Will let out a pained, helpless scream.

How could a night so wonderful turn into such a bottomless nightmare? It was the best night of his life. The best. And now it was also the worst.

And all because of one person. The same person who could transform his world into the most beautiful place in one second and bring it to ruin the next.

“Hannibal.” Will didn’t have to turn to know that he’d been heard. An ominous presence materialized behind his back, and slowly, Will got up. He spent a few more moments staring at Reba, mesmerizing her features, silently whispering ‘goodbye’. Then he took a deep breath and finally turned to face his… whatever Hannibal was.

An inspiration.

A murderer.

An anchor.

A monster.

He looked the same. The same cold, emotionless features, the same predatory, dangerous stance.    

And eyes. So hard and yet filled with such genuine warmth.

“What have you done?” Will hissed. “What the hell have you done? What did you say to her?”

Hannibal pressed his lips together.

“The conversation Reba and I shared is personal, Will,” he said finally. “I don’t believe she would want me to share the details of it with you.”

The rage that flared up in his chest at Hannibal’s smooth voice was blinding. Vibrating with fury, Will stepped closer.

“Who cares?” he shouted. “Reba also didn’t want to die, she wanted to live, yet you took that decision from her!”

“On the contrary, this choice was hers,” Hannibal retorted, and Will laughed harshly.

“Yes. So suddenly she decided she felt suicidal and drank some poison. And you had nothing to do with it.”

Hannibal sighed, shaking his head lightly.

“I didn’t say—” he began.

“SHUT UP!” Will bellowed. The pain kept pulsing somewhere inside his ribcage, making every breath excruciating, and he touched his chest, trying to ease the horrible sensation. “Shut up,” he repeated, quieter this time, but just as vehemently. “I can guess what you said to her — I’d be a fool not to know it. Something about how hopeless her situation was, how she would just slow us down. How she had no chance to win, and that by coming with us, she’d only endanger us.”    

“Well, isn’t that true?” Hannibal stared at him, and a new, absolutely agonizing wave of despair crashed into Will.

“It doesn’t matter!” he screamed. “She didn’t deserve to die like that, thinking she was a burden, thinking we were better off without her! Was it your plan since the beginning? You knew how it would end, you knew she would die, and you kept talking to her and smiling to her and lying!”

“Will,” this time it was Hannibal who stepped closer to him. “I know this is difficult. I know how much united you and Reba, but despite the pain, despite the grief, you have to calm down and to actually listen to me. Can you do that?”

‘ _How easy it would be to say ‘yes’_ , Will mused absently. How easy it would be to succumb to Hannibal once again, to let Hannibal persuade him that it was for the best, that Reba’s death was inevitable.

But it wasn’t fair to Reba, and Will wasn’t going to let himself fall again.

“No,” he spat. “I’m not going to listen to you anymore. You are an idiot if you thought you could do something like _this_ and then we’d go on as if nothing happened. I won’t forgive you for this. I won’t forgive myself for accepting your plan, for not running away with Reba while we still could.”

A shadow crossed Hannibal’s face, so distinct that Will managed to see it even in the darkness that still surrounded them.

“I wasn’t actively planning this,” Hannibal said calmly. “I knew Reba wouldn’t have long — you knew it as well. However, I had no solid plans, not until the very last moment. And even then, it wasn’t much of a plan. Reba and I just talked and discussed the reality of her future.”

“You just talked,” Will repeated. Hysteria kept bubbling on the surface, fueling half-crazed laugher that escaped his chest. “You just talked, but for some reason you took the warm clothes from her and wrapped me up in it when she was still alive. You just talked, but she chose to kill herself when just a few hours ago she’d been happy. You just talked, but she’s lying dead!”

“Will—”

“No,” Will shook his head furiously. “No. Stop talking, I don’t want to hear it. Actually — I don’t want to see you again. That’s the end of our agreement. From this moment, we are not allies, and even if I hear you call for help, I’m not going to come running.”

Hannibal remained silent. Grabbing his backpack, Will hesitated for a moment, looking at Reba. His heart ached, so he turned away and moved to the exit. He expected Hannibal to still say something, to object, yet he stepped away silently, letting him pass.

Not knowing if he was relieved or disappointed, Will stepped outside, but before he could move, Hannibal’s hands wrapped around his neck, roughly pulling him back and squeezing all air from him. Will struggled, trying to kick him, but Hannibal easily avoided the blow, still holding him, crushing his windpipe. The world started to darken, and Hannibal, unbelievably, whispered, “It’s all right. I promise.”

Will would have asked how anything could possibly be all right after this, but his consciousness began to slip away.

The last thing he sensed was Hannibal kissing his temple.

 

 

***

 

 

Even before Will opened his eyes, he realized it wasn’t supposed to happen. He had to be dead — dead like Mason, dead like Reba. Hannibal had killed him… hadn’t he? That suffocation wasn’t a joke, even now Will could feel the burning ache in his throat. So what, Hannibal hadn’t finished his job? Or had something gone wrong?   

Slowly, Will opened his eyes.

He was lying near the cave, near the extinguished fire he and Hannibal had enjoyed at night, on the bundle of clothes. The sunlight was all around, generously pouring warmth into his body.

“How are you feeling?”

Jerking in surprise, Will looked toward the stream. Hannibal was standing there, looking concerned. 

“What?” Will croaked. His voice wasn’t working properly, and he instinctively touched his throat, wincing as a fresh wave of pain rolled over him.

“I might have been too rough,” frowning, Hannibal approached him and squatted down, gently touching his neck. Will was so confounded that he let him, blinking as Hannibal frowned even more. His touch felt soothing, remorseful even, and when he leaned back, he looked annoyed.

“I apologize,” Hannibal said stiffly. “It was not my intention to hurt you. I had to stop you from leaving, and that seemed to be the only way to achieve it.”

“Why would you stop me from leaving?” Will wheezed. “Did you think I would change my mind while being unconscious?”

“I hoped for it,” a ghost of a smile touched Hannibal’s lips. “But it was not the main reason. Considering the extreme emotional state you were in, wandering in the forest at night would have been a suicide.”

“So you decided to suffocate me before anyone else does it?”

“Pretty much, yes,” another brief genuine smile flashed across Hannibal’s face, but then it turned grave again.

“I’d like you to stay, Will,” he said quietly. Will looked away.

“I can’t,” he replied. Glancing at the cave, he saw that Reba’s body was no longer there, and the power of grief that engulfed him at the thought of never seeing her again almost startled him. Grimacing, Will got up, searching for his backpack.

He’d foolishly run for it in the beginning of the Games, and ironically, it was the only thing he had now… even though there was no food in it anymore, only a small knife and that small weird object Will still hadn’t identified.

Going back to the cave, retrieving the bottle with pink water, washing it and refilling it with the water from the stream was a good idea, a practical idea, but Will couldn’t stomach even the mere thought of coming back there, of ever seeing that bottle again.

He adjusted his backpack and looked at Hannibal. Immediately everything within him twisted, with his heart trying to claw its way outside, and Will took a deep breath, willing it to calm down.

It was done. There was no going back from here.

“Goodbye,” he said.

“Will.” Hannibal stared at him, saying million different things with his eyes alone.

If Will kept looking at him, he would never be able to leave. 

Gritting his teeth, he moved toward the thick forest, wishing for the trees to hide him from Hannibal, wishing them to hide Hannibal from him.

‘ _One, two, three_ ,’ his mind helpfully suggested.

One, two, three.        

One, two, three.       

For a while, his own voice drowned out other sounds, and it was a relief, even if temporary one.  

Will tried to walk fast, but every step weighted a ton, and he had a feeling he was barely moving.

He didn’t let himself think of Hannibal. Or of Reba. Even of the Games. His only purpose now was to walk, and he tried to concentrate fully on it.

A gunshot tore through the silence, so close that Will jerked instinctively, his hands going to his ears. Then he froze, realizing what it meant.

Someone died. Someone in the close proximity.

Hannibal.

He didn’t even have time to think. Whirling around, Will broke into a run, heading back toward the accursed stream, trying to get his pathetic little knife out of the backpack without stopping.

Hannibal couldn’t be dead. He couldn’t. How much time had passed — five minutes? Seven? What could have possibly happened? He couldn’t have been attacked by another tribute, it was not possible. He would have heard it — Hannibal was always cautious, always alert.

Maybe it was Hannibal himself who had just killed someone? But Will doubted he would have started searching the forest right away, right after they’d separated. So either some accident had happened, or Hannibal had been indeed attacked.

The panic was overwhelming. It gripped his gut in a vise so tight, Will could scarcely breathe.

He’d never moved so quickly before. He’d never _wanted_ to move so quickly before, not even when the Games had started, not even when he’d been worrying about Reba.

Hannibal. Dead.

No. No, he couldn’t be. Will would have known. He would have felt it.

When he finally reached the stream, he saw no one. Panic increased, threatening to bury him under layers of fear and horror, but then his ears caught the sound of movement.

There was someone behind the trees. And not just someone — several someones. Fighting.

Clenching the knife, Will dashed in the direction of the sound. Fear subsided, replaced by hope and wild, blind rage.

If there was a fight, it meant Hannibal was most certainly alive. It meant he’d been attacked by two or more people at once, and it was maddening. It was unacceptable.

Despite all those thoughts rushing through his head, Will stopped and almost sagged when he saw Hannibal — strong, impressive, and alive. Oh, God, he was alive, he was still alive.

The sheer joy bloomed inside, but it was short-lived. Hannibal was alive, yes, but he was obviously hurt and he was currently losing.

The dead body of some girl — Marissa? — was lying under the tree, and the person trying to beat the shit out of Hannibal was none other than Tobias.

A strange and unexpected alliance.

But it didn’t matter, not now. Hannibal was stealthy, quick and lethal, but Tobias was pure embodiment of raw strength. His fist smashed into Hannibal’s face, and Hannibal staggered, letting out a small, involuntary sound.

That sound made Will’s vision turn red. The fury seared his nerve endings, filling his ears with the thudding of his pulse, and without thinking, Will jumped onto Tobias’ back, jerking his head back with one hand. He let himself briefly enjoy an astonished look that appeared on Tobias’ face, and then he plunged the knife into his neck, shuddering as the blade tore into flesh.

Thin trickles of blood gushed from the wound, and Tobias gurgled, wobbling on his feet unsteadily. Will had managed to get away before he fell over, staring as Tobias tried to grab the knife weakly.

It was pointless anyway, no one could survive being stabbed in the throat, yet dark excitement that flared up within Will told him it didn’t matter. He tore the knife from the wound, and spasm convulsed Tobias’ body. Tightening his grip, Will plunged the knife back into the throat offered to him, inhaling sharply as drops of blood sprayed across his face.

Tobias’ eyes went vacant, glassy, his face still wearing a mask of surprise, and Will stared at him in fascination. The gunshot sounded.

Something kept building inside him. Some hot, nameless, elated emotion that filled every cell of his body, scorching him from inside, making him burn, _ache_ with the need for something.

Reluctantly, Will forced himself to look away from the body and stared at Hannibal instead. Everything seemed hazy, blurry, but Hannibal’s face was surprisingly distinct. He was also staring at Will, seemingly forgetting about the bruise on his face and his bleeding eyebrow, about others injuries he probably had. Will couldn’t decipher his gaze, and his brain was definitely too empty at this moment to even try.

Hannibal moved. Will blinked, trying to free himself from the weird trance that kept holding him, but in the next moment Hannibal’s strong hands pulled him up from the ground and practically threw him into the nearest tree. Will gasped, feeling how the fire inside him blazed even brighter, and before Hannibal could do anything else, Will grabbed him by the hair and kissed him.              

   It was sloppy. It was enthusiastic to the point of being crazy, but it was exactly what Will needed. His tongue greedily ran across Hannibal’s bottom lip, and Hannibal opened his mouth, letting him in, letting their tongues meet and become inseparable.

Will felt his toes curl when heavy desire flooded him. Light-headed, he pressed to Hannibal’s body almost desperately, trying to devour him and simultaneously attempting to get under his T-shirt. Hannibal made a sound, not a painful one like before, but one of pure want. Just the way he held him, touched him, kissed him made Will’s breathing quicken even more, made it become even more erratic. The dizziness returned full force, and he wondered if it was possible to black out during a kiss.

He might have pushed too strongly, or Hannibal wasn’t standing steadily, because in the next moment both of them tumbled to the ground. Their lips remained fused, just as their hands stubbornly refused to let go of each other. 

When Will opened his eyes, he realized he was on top of Hannibal, and Tobias’ body was lying almost next to them. Instead of finding it revolting, Will felt his desire grow even more, absorbing every other emotion his body could experience and turning it into fuel.

Giving Hannibal’s lips one last long kiss, Will moved to kissing his neck, biting the flesh with his teeth lightly. Hannibal gripped his upper arms almost brutally, and Will let out an appreciative sound.

He wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing until he reached Hannibal’s belt. His very fingertips were burning as he started to unbuckle it, still trembling with the need for something he couldn’t name. Hannibal hissed as the air hit his naked flesh, and Will momentarily tightened his hands over his hips, enjoying their surprising softness.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured. The way Hannibal’s eyes lit up with delight made him smile, but with every second waiting was getting more and more intolerable. Not wanting to waste another moment, Will leaned over and gave the swollen head a tentative swipe of his tongue, tasting the pleasant saltiness.

Hannibal grasped his hair and called out his name, his voice so thick with desire that it was barely recognizable. Encouraged, Will closed his lips around him, sliding down, letting him enter his throat. Almost immediately he started to gag, but when he tried to pull away, Hannibal’s grip on his hair became stronger, pushing him back down.

Gagging yet almost purring from pleasure, Will tried to relax, to breathe slowly. He managed to adjust surprisingly fast, so he sucked harder, more confident now. Hannibal’s answering soft moan was the most amazing reward he could have hoped for. The more painfully he yanked on Will’s hair, the more uncontrollably his hips jerked, filling Will’s mouth even more, the wilder the pleasure became, the more it rose to the surface.

Will mindlessly reached to touch himself, still sucking, still reveling in the way the cock stretched his lips, in the taste of it, in the scent of Hannibal’s arousal.

He never wanted this moment to end.

Hannibal’s moans started to get louder, more frequent, and then suddenly liquid heat filled Will’s mouth, making him reel away in surprise. Once again Hannibal’s hands caught his head, holding it in place, waiting until Will had no choice but to swallow everything. The initial protest dissolved when a wave of his own bliss engulfed him again, and Will moaned, trying not to choke and to avoid getting permanently lost in the maze of pleasure.

When there was no drop left, Hannibal’s grip weakened, and Will raised his head, looking up curiously. Hannibal’s entire body was flushed, his lips parted slightly. His chest kept rising up and down heavily, and Will allowed himself to bask in the glow of realization that he was the reason for it.

“I really have to wash myself,” he murmured. “This is getting ridiculous.”

Hannibal laughed breathlessly and pulled him closer, kissing him on the lips slowly. Will melted into his embrace, welcoming the feel of Hannibal’s fingers as they stroked his hair, this time gently, as if apologizing for prior roughness.

The sun almost reached the middle of the sky when they finally managed to break apart. They were both grinning stupidly, not touching, but still unable to stop looking at each other.

“We have to go back to the stream,” Will said finally. “We have to wash, refill the bottles we have with water, and leave. This place is getting too crowded.”

“Does it mean you are coming with me?” Hannibal asked after a pause. His voice was careful, his face neutral, and Will tensed, feeling how the joy started to subside.

“Yes,” he said quietly. Relief flashed in Hannibal’s eyes before he quickly hid it, but Will had managed to notice. Tilting his head, he sighed.

“I understand why you did it,” he uttered. “I understand, logically, that it was probably the best outcome for… for her. She was strong, but she was still vulnerable here. Quick painless death is a miracle when it comes to the Games, but… I still cannot accept it. So I ask you not to talk about it, about her. Okay?”

“Of course,” Hannibal nodded.

“Thank you.” Will turned away and stared at Tobias’ and Marissa’s bodies.

“How did they even manage to attack you?” he wondered aloud. “Your hearing is impeccable. Were they really that stealthy?”

“I don’t know,” annoyance in Hannibal’s voice made Will look at him in surprise.

“You don’t know?” he repeated. “How can you not know?”

If anything, Hannibal’s face turned even more sour.

“I was distracted,” he said curtly. “They had undoubtedly made some noise, but in my state I missed it.”

“Distracted,” Will repeated again. A small smile appeared on his lips. “You mean you were upset?”

Hannibal narrowed his eyes.

“Maybe,” he allowed. “However, I was under the impression that you didn’t want to talk about it.”

“Stop being an asshole,” Will recommended, and laughed at the incredulous indignation that appeared on Hannibal’s face.

“Come on,” he said. “I don’t feel comfortable here any longer.”

“We should take a piece of the body,” Hannibal said, and Will’s eyebrows rose.

“Excuse me?”

“We don’t have much food left. It is midday, we can’t allow ourselves to hunt until the evening, and after today’s activities we need protein.”

Will almost choked, feeling the blush rising to his cheeks.

“No,” he finally stated. “No humans for food.”

Hannibal stared at him quizzically, and Will shook his head in disbelief.

“No humans for food!” he repeated. “Seriously, Hannibal, it’s disgusting! I have no desire to eat Tobias, or this girl — I’d prefer to catch fish instead.”

“You don’t have the necessary equipment for fishing.”

“Well, then I’m catching fish with my hands, but I sure as hell won’t eat people!”

The silence stretched between them for a moment, and then a soft, tinkling sound broke it. They both looked up simultaneously and saw two small packages descending.

“Oh!” Will stared at them, delighted. How could he forget? “Did our mentors decide to form an alliance as well?”

“It happens,” Hannibal agreed, watching how Will started to open one of the packages. “Is it food?”

“Yes,” Will stared at the potatoes and roast beef inside. “Thank God for that. I have no doubt you would have tried to cut something from Tobias the moment my back was turned.”

Hannibal smiled at him, and Will’s heart sang.

“Your loss,” Hannibal murmured flirtatiously. Will rolled his eyes, but said nothing.

 

 

***

 

 

After a short discussion, they headed west. Will didn’t particularly care about direction, but he had no desire to stay at the cave, even though it had become something like home to him in those several days.

Hannibal, on the other hand, was guided by curiosity.

“Usually the arenas have circular form,” he’d explained. “Ours, however, more resembles a stripe, meaning it has the beginning and the end. We’ve seen where the arena begins — now I want to see where it ends.”

So they were moving west, stopping occasionally to rest and to make sure they weren’t followed. When the darkness came, they settled in the small valley of fallen trees, and Will watched Hannibal build a fire.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea?” he asked. “Other tributes will easily notice it, even from the distance.”

“We are not afraid of other tributes,” Hannibal commented, not looking up. “Let them come if they dare. Now that you’ve broken free from the shackles, you are going to become a terrifying force. I can safely assume we are the strongest allies still in the Game.”

“You are so sure I’ve ‘broken free from the shackles’?” Will sat closer to the fire, looking at his hands, trying to imagine Tobias’ blood on them. “How can you know it was not an isolated case?”

Hannibal paused to stare at him.

“I saw the look on your face,” he uttered, his eyes glistening with undecipherable emotion. “It was beautiful. _You_ were beautiful. There is no going back from this.”

The weak argument stirred and then died away, leaving Will alone with the truth.

Killing Tobias felt ecstatic. After kissing Hannibal, it was the second most beautiful feeling Will had ever experienced.

He felt good.

He felt alive.

He felt real. As if today signified the beginning of his life, as if he finally started to breathe properly, for the very first time.

Hannibal was right. There was no going back.

The fire was bright and welcoming, and Will moved even closer to it, hoping to get warm. With the corner of his eye he saw Hannibal watching him, obviously conflicted about something. Curious, Will waited, and soon enough Hannibal took a deep breath and carefully shifted to him, as if unsure if he would be welcome.

Will turned to him and smiled, enjoying how Hannibal instinctively smiled back. Leaning against the fallen tree, Will pulled Hannibal after himself and rested his head on his shoulder. Hannibal wrapped his arm around his waist, and a blissful silence engulfed them.

Had they been sitting like this yesterday? Just yesterday. When Reba—

No. Don’t think. Not about this.

“Do you remember your interview?” Hannibal murmured. Grateful for distraction, Will pressed closer to him.

“Yes,” he said. “It was a disaster. Every time I have to speak to people is a disaster. Why?”

“I liked your interview. It was genuine.” Hannibal turned and took him by his chin, making him raise his head. “You said your eyes were gray. They are not gray, they are an unusual combination of blue and green.”

Will shrugged awkwardly, embarrassed. The scrutiny with which Hannibal was watching him often took him aback, but he’d hoped he’d gotten over it, after everything they had already shared.  

Apparently, he was wrong.

“Beautiful,” Hannibal murmured softly. Their lips met, gentle and light, and the familiar sensation of bliss spread all over Will.

He dozed off soon, warm and comfortable. When the music sounded from the sky, breaking the silence abruptly, Will jerked, and Hannibal shushed him.

“It’s all right,” he whispered. “You can sleep.”

The phantoms.

The last chance to see Reba.

Slowly, Will pulled away form Hannibal and waited, trying to school himself and to remember to breathe.

Beverly from District One was the first to appear. He stared at her, frowning, wondering when she could have died and why he hadn’t heard the gunshot. Margot appeared next, and this time Will asked, “When did it happen? Beverly and Margot — they were together with Tobias. I don’t remember hearing gunshots.”

“They died early in the morning,” Hannibal said. “You were still unconscious at that point.”

“Do you think Tobias killed them?”

“I don’t know. It’s entirely possible, although I trusted career tributes to be smarter. It’s foolish to blindly trust each other, especially at this stage of the Game. Tobias might have killed them while they were sleeping, when it was his turn to keep watch.”

Something in those words sounded strange and Will frowned. However, he didn’t have time to wonder about it — Reba appeared next, looking sad yet smiling at the same time. Will gasped, staring at her. Even transparent, she still looked alive, and his heart ached.

“Goodbye,” he whispered. Hearing those words spoken aloud somehow made Reba’s death more real, and tears burned his eyes. Will blinked them away, and when he looked up next, Reba had disappeared.

Slowly, feeling like a tired old man, Will leaned back against the tree and hugged his knees to himself, closing his eyes. He felt Hannibal watching him again, but this time, he didn’t move.

Sleep refused to come to him. It felt like an hour had passed when a gunshot went off, stirring the silence. It sounded far away, but Will still straightened, looking anxiously in the direction he thought it’d come from.

“One more dead,” he said. “Only ten tributes left.”

“Yes,” Hannibal answered. His voice sounded strange, and Will turned to look at him.

Hannibal’s face was abnormally pale, his eyes troubled, scared almost. The sight was so astonishing that Will stared at him with his mouth agape.

“Are you all right?” he asked carefully. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Hannibal’s breathing quickened and then he suddenly squeezed his eyes shut, shuddering.

Even more worried, Will leaned over, but Hannibal jerked away and snapped, “Don’t touch me!”

It was like a slap, and Will froze in indecision.  

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Did you see something? That gunshot wasn’t close, so I don’t think we’re in danger.”

Hannibal stared somewhere in the darkness unseeingly and didn’t answer. Unsettled, Will hugged his knees again, lying back yet unable to close his eyes.

At one point Hannibal finally exhaled and shook his head slowly, as if coming back to life. When he looked at Will, his eyes were inscrutable.

“Sleep,” he said quietly. “I’ll have to wake you up in several hours so we’d change shifts, and you have to rest.”

“Will you tell me what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I’ve just realized a few things. Nothing important,” Hannibal smiled. His smile looked genuine, but there was no real mirth in his eyes. They were cold and hostile, and Will’s unease intensified.

Contrary to how he looked, Hannibal bent over him and placed a soft kiss on the top of his head.

“Sleep,” he repeated. “I’ll be right here.”

“Okay,” Will replied hesitantly. What a weird thing to say. “Good night. Don’t forget to wake me up.”

“I won’t.”

Closing his eyes, Will wished for the sleep to come, so the strange situation they were in would disappear.

However, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t sleep. He didn’t even feel tired anymore, just worried.

The fire had gone out, only the coals kept the remains of light and warmth. Through the half-open lids, Will watched Hannibal who was sitting motionlessly, like a statue, and though he couldn’t see his face properly, he knew it was cold and hardened.

What the hell had happened? Why was he acting this way?

Another hour had passed when Hannibal finally stirred. He turned to him, and Will struggled to keep his breath even.

“Will?” Hannibal sounded deceptively calm. “Are you asleep?”

Something stopped him from answering. Premonition? Hunch?

“Will,” Hannibal called again. When he refused to move, Hannibal shifted, taking something out of his pocket. It glinted for a second, and with a sickening dread Will realized it was a knife.

Hannibal crawled to him, soundless and terrifying as always, and it took every ounce of Will’s efforts to keep lying still.

So that’s what it was about.

_He’s in love with you_.  

_Whilst Reba lives, you have nothing to fear from me_.   

_Only ten tributes left._

Yes.

Hannibal could be genuinely in love with him — as much as it was possible for someone like him. He couldn’t fake it, a lot of his actions wouldn’t have made sense otherwise. But what he wanted more than Will was victory. He wanted to win, he wanted to come back to his District and to live his life in safety. Will supposed he couldn’t blame him for that.

Considering Hannibal’s reaction to the gunshot… yes, it made sense now. He had probably given himself a deadline, a promise to get rid of his allies after ten tributes were left. And now it was time to fulfill this promise.

The bitterness was expected, but the heartbreak that came with it took Will by surprise.

He should have never gotten close to Hannibal. He should have died in the beginning, like he’d thought he would. Even if Mason or Gideon had caught him, it wouldn’t have hurt _this_ much. It wouldn’t have hit him this terribly.

Should he fight? Should he at least open his eyes and look at Hannibal, hoping he would waver?

No.

Will wasn’t sure where this calm certainty had come from, but he knew he wasn’t going to change his mind.

He’d realized he wouldn’t survive the Games since the start. Even after he and Hannibal had made a deal, he knew he wouldn’t be the one to win.

He’d also never expected to be loved, and it was difficult to say what was worse — not being loved at all or being loved but not enough.

Hannibal got so close that pretending to be asleep became almost impossible. Will had to keep his eyes closed now, so he had no idea what was happening.

The silence hung, tense and gloomy. Minutes kept passing, but Hannibal didn’t do anything — he just sat near him, breathing quietly.

It didn’t exactly heal the terrible wound in his heart, but it still brought Will some comfort. Hannibal obviously had difficulties with proceeding with his plan, so it was something.

Even though it wasn’t enough.

More minutes passed. Finally Hannibal shifted and pressed cold blade against Will’s throat. Pressed and froze.

More minutes. More waiting.

It was getting excruciating.

Will heard a shuddering breath and then Hannibal abruptly withdrew the knife. Hearing movement, Will risked opening his eyes, and he saw Hannibal hiding the knife back in his pocket and staring morosely at the glowing coals.   

Oh.

Not tonight, then.

Will didn’t know how to feel about it. He hadn’t been stabbed, yet he was still bleeding internally.

Suddenly completely exhausted, he closed his eyes again.

Somehow, he managed to fall asleep.      


	9. Killing. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, everyone, for your brilliant comments and kudos - I'm so glad you're all enjoying this! It's very much appreciated. The next chapter might take two-three weeks.

The morning came unexpectedly late — when Will opened his eyes, the sunlight was already bright.

Despite apparently having slept all night, he didn’t feel rested. On the contrary — his every limb weighted a ton, and every part of his body ached.

His mind wasn’t any better.

Determined not to think about it, Will pushed himself up and scanned the surroundings.

“Good morning,” a friendly voice greeted him. Glancing to his right, he saw Hannibal smiling at him, as innocently as if nothing had happened.

Well. Maybe for Hannibal nothing had happened indeed.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” Will asked. His voice sounded hoarse, but not as cold as he’d feared it would.

“You slept so peacefully,” Hannibal sat near him, and Will tensed, trying to stop himself from moving. “I didn’t mind staying up all night. My body needs a surprisingly little amount of sleep.”

“You still should have woken me. We don’t know what will happen today or tonight — we might not have a chance to sleep at all.”

Hannibal didn’t even seem to hear him. A strange, raw longing was reflected on his face, and the heat in his eyes couldn’t really be misinterpreted. Staring at him in that intense way of his, Hannibal leaned closer to his lips, and Will shifted in the last moment, letting the kiss fall on his cheek.

Hannibal froze. Slowly, he leaned back, an expression of bewilderment at the rejection quickly giving way to feigned indifference.

“Is everything all right?” he asked carefully.

“Yes,” Will stood up, picking the dirt from his clothes absentmindedly. “Wake me up the next time, though.”

“As you wish.”

He felt Hannibal watching him, obviously trying to figure out what was going on. For a short moment, panic flared up.

Hannibal was smart. It wouldn’t take long for him to realize just what exactly was wrong, and then they would either face each other in a fight or in the most uncomfortable conversation Will could ever imagine.

He had to do something, and do it fast.

“So, what were you doing all night?” he asked. He couldn’t manage to sound enthusiastic, not for the life of him, but his curiosity seemed to satisfy Hannibal.

“I wanted to hunt,” he explained. “With the weapon we have, I thought it was entirely possible to catch some small animal. But I didn’t see anyone at all. I begin to think this forest is empty, and other tributes are the only living beings here.”

“The Gamekeepers must really want to see some cannibalism,” Will muttered darkly. They’d eaten the supplies they had received yesterday, and now they were once again left with nothing. Will could already feel his stomach rumble in dissatisfaction.

“I did find more berries,” Hannibal continued, nodding at the fallen tree where a bunch of red small things was lying. “Not much, but enough for breakfast. Eat them and we’ll be on our way.”

Will stared at the offered berries like they were poisoned, wondering if maybe they really were. Could Hannibal decide that cutting his throat was too brutal, and poisoning him would make the situation… cleaner? Was it even possible to check?

Not without eating them.

“Thank you,” Will said slowly. He didn’t break his gaze, not even when Hannibal frowned, uncomprehending.

He used to trust his instincts, and right now his instincts were saying that the berries were perfectly normal and that Hannibal no longer intended to kill him. At the same time, Will wasn’t naïve enough to believe he was safe.

Hannibal _would_ try again. If not now, then later.

 Sighing, Will took the berries and ate them one by one, as slowly as he could manage. If they were deadly — well, at least he’d enjoy the taste.

Hannibal, of course, watched him eat, but not in the ‘I’m waiting till you drop dead’ way. His eyes were hazy and he looked absolutely besotted, and Will shook his head in resignation.

Who could understand what was going on in Hannibal’s head? At night he had been ready to kill him, but now he looked as if Will eating berries was the most fascinating thing he’d ever witnessed.

Crazy. Like Will had always thought.

The berries ended sooner than he’d prefer. As soon as he swallowed the last one, Will got up, ready to leave, but before he realized it, Hannibal was by his side, his hands on Will’s face. The look he sent him was dark and intense, and when he leaned to kiss him again, Will had no other choice but to open his lips against Hannibal’s, kissing him back.

The kiss was lovely. Sensing that something was troubling him, Hannibal didn’t rush or push — his every touch was caressing and adoring, as if reassuring Will of his devotion.

How could someone act so lovingly and then so deadly? And why? Will wanted to ask, _needed_ to ask, but he didn’t know how. As it was, Hannibal’s kiss had left him with a bittersweet taste in his mouth, and when they pulled away from each other, Will found himself unable to even pretend to smile.

“We should go,” he said quietly. “Staying in one place is dangerous.”

This time Hannibal didn’t argue, and Will let out a small sigh of relief.

He had felt stronger with Hannibal.

Now he had to learn how to be strong without him again.

 

 

***

 

 

Since they both possessed a perfect sense of direction, going strictly west wasn’t a problem. Staying away from the dangerous topics of conversation was also disturbingly easy, and Will wondered how it was possible.

He knew of Hannibal’s plan now, but talking to him was as relaxing as always. He knew Hannibal might try to kill him at night, yet every silence between them was comfortable.

They were interrupted by a gunshot once, hours after they’d left the valley. It sounded around the same place as the one last night, and Will tensed, throwing a surreptitious glance at Hannibal.

Nine tributes left. It should probably unnerve Hannibal, considering his plan.

He didn’t look concerned though. Thoughtful, yes, but nothing like his extreme reaction yesterday.

“I believe some tributes — or tribute — made a camp in the thick of the wood,” Hannibal commented. “West, so probably exactly at the place we’re heading to. Did you notice it’s getting more difficult to walk? The trees and bushes start to be everywhere.”

“Who would be hiding in the thickest, impenetrable part of the forest?”

“There are several options,” Hannibal murmured, his eyes alight with curiosity. “Randall Tier, perhaps. It certainly seems like his environment. Or weaker tributes, those who do not wish to engage in fights and chose to wait it out. In any case, I believe we will learn tonight, when the phantoms come.”

“Would you look at my phantom? If I died?”

Will didn’t know where this question had come from — he’d just blurted it out without thinking. Silently, he watched how colors left Hannibal’s face as he stared at him, like trying to imagine him translucent and no longer real. Dead.

Swallowing with obvious difficulty, Hannibal cleared his throat.

“I wouldn’t have to,” he said.

“Why?” Will raised his eyebrow. He felt absolutely calm, just mildly curious.

“Because I would remember you,” Hannibal made a move to touch his cheek, but his fingers never reached Will’s skin. “Your image would stay with me always.”

Will pondered over this answer for a moment, tasting it, trying to decide how it made him feel. In the end he came to the conclusion that he liked it. It was weirdly comforting and pleasant, so he rewarded Hannibal with a smile.

“Good,” he said. At Hannibal’s incredulous expression he laughed, and then tugged at his hand.

“Come on. If we’re going to join the party of some murderous tribute, then we might just as well hurry up.”

“It’s farther than you think,” Hannibal warned. “Even if we walk fast, I believe we will reach that exact place only by tomorrow evening.”

“Who cares,” Will rolled his eyes. The sudden carelessness he felt was unexpected but freeing.

Who cared indeed. However long he was supposed to live, he was going to enjoy every minute of it — it was already a step-up from the empty years he’d wasted in his District.

 

The next several hours passed in a satisfying silence. When Hannibal suddenly stopped, Will crashed into him, too absorbed in his thoughts.

“Oh!” he said. “Sorry, I… what’s wrong?”

“Someone is coming our way,” Hannibal murmured. “The smell has changed. Do you feel it?”

Will closed his eyes, letting the sounds and smells wash over him. It smelled like pine and salt, and dirt, and… blood? But didn’t it always smell this way here?

The blood, though.

Well, even though his sense of smell wasn’t nearly as good as Hannibal’s, he never complained about his hearing, and right now he could distinctly hear someone making their way through the forest, breaking branches, crashing into the bushes, not even bothering to hide.  

Yes. Someone was running, and running right at them.

The instinct that flared up in him was not good. It was more animalistic than human, and absolutely, entirely bloodthirsty.

Will stepped behind one of the trees, looking at Hannibal briefly to make sure he was doing the same. Hannibal’s eyebrows rose, but then he smirked and followed his example. He continued to watch Will attentively, and when Will mouthed, “Let me”, the satisfaction and joy that shone in Hannibal’s eyes made his blood accelerate.

He wanted to do it. Oh, how much he wanted it.

Who could be so carelessly stupid? And if someone was running in such a hurry, who exactly were they running from? As far as Will was concerned, the most intimidating and terrifying tribute was Hannibal, and Hannibal was here with him.

Several minutes passed, the noise getting louder and louder. Finally Will sensed their prey approaching, separated from them by mere seconds. His body tensed, and as the footsteps became deafening, Will threw himself between the trees, confident that he had timed it well.

He collided with another tribute, and the force of the crash sent them both onto the ground. Will’s hands instinctively went to the shoulders of their unexpected guest and he slammed him against the surface, as hard as he could. A terrified gasp that sounded cleared away the bits of red haze, and he recognized the man as Frederick Chilton, the tribute Will had been watching sometimes at the Centre because of his strange ability to appear scared and arrogant simultaneously.

Frederick stared at him in complete terror, but as soon as he realized who was in front of him, his body relaxed.

“Oh, it’s you!” he exclaimed. “Thank God. You scared me to death!”

Bemused, Will turned to look at Hannibal. Hannibal was now leaning against the tree, almost sensually, watching the play unfold with an amused curl of his lips.

Frederick followed his gaze and gasped again. His eyes widened impossibly and a strong shiver passed through his body. His fear was so palpable that Will thought he could almost smell it, strong and wild, emanating from his skin.

Taking a deep breath, Frederick regrouped and concentrated on Will, then spoke as if Hannibal wasn’t standing near them.

“It’s surprising to see you still alive. Good, but surprising — I’m sure you understand. You are not really the type to live long after the Games start, but the fate has its own plan, I suppose.”

Will felt his eyebrows climb up to his hairline.

Was this person serious or was it some weird self-preservation thing?

“Where are you going?” Frederick continued to blab. “If west, then I really suggest you turn around. You have no idea what a freak is hiding there.”

“Oh?” Will loosened his grip on Frederick’s shoulders slightly. “Which one?”

“The one who believes he’s some kind of an animal. I formed an alliance with Abigail Hobbs — well, I formed an alliance with a lot of people during the Games. You know,” Frederick rolled his eyes and accidentally looked at Hannibal. Once again he froze, his face paling, and then he turned away and stared at the sky, probably pretending that Hannibal was no here.

Will exchanged amused glances with Hannibal, and when Hannibal mouthed “rude”, he shrugged, barely suppressing a bizarre desire to giggle. It was the strangest situation he could have imagined himself in.

“Anyway,” Frederick went on, “I never trusted anyone long enough to stick with them. I wanted to lay low for some time, but then I found Abigail. She was going west — she said the forest there was nearly impenetrable and no one in their sane mind would choose to go to such place. It made sense, so we went together. She knew how to pass through the toughest spots, we were moving fairly quickly, but then that creature just jumped out! He made some sort of a suit from leaves and branches and was just lying there — it was impossible to see him! You should have seen what he did to Abigail, he just… he tore her apart. I ran, of course. I’ve been running for a day now — stupid, maybe, I know, but you wouldn’t blame me if you saw him yourself. I still feel like I’m being followed,” Frederick’s eyes flickered to Hannibal and then immediately focused on Will again.

Well. Seeing him like this… Will wasn’t sure he still wanted to kill him. The moment of bloodthirst and excitement had passed — he didn’t see a prey now, just a human. Frederick wasn’t the most pleasant person he’d encountered, but he was harmless. And his stubborn refusal to even look at Hannibal was still making Will’s lips twitch from laughter.

He sent Hannibal one silent look, knowing that he would be understood. As he’d thought, Hannibal sighed and nodded slightly, pushing away from the tree and starting to slowly circle them.

“Sit up, Frederick,” Will said softly. The man looked at him warily and straightened. He was still attempting to smile smugly, but his body kept jerking in terror, and his face now looked ashen.

“You said a lot of people formed alliances with you?” Will asked. Frederick nodded, still shaking.

“Y-yes,” he mumbled. “Even some of the career tributes. They knew I could help them win. I had a good strategy and you can see it worked — I am still alive, aren’t I. Everyone wants to win, but not everyone has it in them — I, I obviously have. Do have it, I mean.”

“I want to win, too,” Will leaned closer to him, squeezing his shoulder in a gesture of support. “Will you share your strategy with me?”

Frederick started to answer when Hannibal grabbed him by the chin and made an abrupt movement. The gunshot sounded, and Will looked at the body with its wide eyes and pale cheeks. Some side of him sang in satisfaction and delight, another remained dormant.

“Impressive,” he said out loud. “I’m curious, just how many necks have you broken?”

“More than I can count,” Hannibal sent him a pleased smile. “Now, there is something else we should do.”

“What?” Will narrowed his eyes suspiciously, watching how Hannibal took out a knife. “Oh no. Are we going to have this conversation again?”

“The last time this conversation was saved by our mentors. I highly doubt it will happen now. Any gift from the outside is a pleasant surprise, but we should never let ourselves depend on it, Will. We have to ensure our survival on our own.”

“And eating other tributes is the only way for us to survive?” Will uttered skeptically.

“Yes,” the smile Hannibal gave him was so disarming that Will’s resolve wavered. “You realize that we no longer have any food and that during the entire day we’ve spent walking, we saw neither animals nor edible plants. This is not a coincidence — if the Gamekeepers chose to make this forest bare, it means they want to see tributes fight for food and engage in cannibalism. Actually, I believe I somewhat inspired them — not many people ate each other in previous Games, and there were never Games heavily focused on the cannibalistic aspect.”

Will looked at Frederick’s body again, trying to imagine eating him. The pale, thin form did nothing to awake his appetite, yet when he imagined a cut of bloody meat, his half-starved stomach growled.

Mortified, Will stepped away, and glared at Hannibal as he laughed.

“Meat is meat,” Hannibal said, still smirking. “It is a source of survival. If we want to win, we can’t allow ourselves to be weak and staggering from hunger.”

“All right,” Will stared at the body, this time wondering which parts they should take. “So how do we do it?”

 

 

***

 

 

When they left a bleeding mess of a body behind, it was not taken from the arena immediately. Maybe the Gamekeepers wanted the public to enjoy the view, or they had no idea how to take every part of Frederick that had been left — Will didn’t know, and he didn’t particularly care. His thoughts were revolving only around several cuts of meat they’d taken, anticipating the moment they would find a good place to spend a night at and cook it. The hunger gnawing at him was undeniable — soon he would have probably agreed to eat his own arm, so eating Frederick didn’t seem all that terrible now.

The sky darkened very soon. Eventually they decided to stop in the area crowded with trees, and Will made a fire while Hannibal lovingly tended to the meat.

As it was cooking, Will tried to get his hands warm, ignoring Hannibal’s subtle attempts to invite him into his arms. The darkness had brought hurtful thoughts with it, reminding him that this night could very well be his last.

Eight tributes left — Hannibal had less and less time to make his move.

And there was really nothing Will could lose now.

“You don’t like talking about your District, do you?” he asked. Hannibal looked at him in surprise. “I remember you got angry when I asked questions about it,” Will clarified. “So I wondered.”

“An interesting observation,” Hannibal stared at the fire thoughtfully. “I’m not sure about the answer. I never talked to anyone about my District — anyone but you. There are places there that are too dark for me to visit, so I try to avoid them.”

Several pieces of information fell in their places, and Will tilted his head, rapidly reconstructing the picture.

“Something bad happened to you,” he murmured. “It didn’t break you, but it hurt you. You probably retaliated with violence and anger, and it alienated people from you, even those in your District who are accustomed to high levels of aggression.”

A myriad of expressions passed over Hannibal’s face, from defensiveness to wariness to quiet contemplation.

Encouraged, Will asked, “Did you ever have friends?”

“No,” Hannibal answered immediately, smiling as if Will had asked the most ridiculous question. “Only casual acquaintances.”

“You were lonely,” Will said quietly. “Just as I was. People felt uncomfortable with me, but you — you were feared. Perhaps for no reason at first, so you decided to give them one. People respected you, but they preferred to stay back. And I guess you liked it that way — you certainly don’t have a high opinion of the human race, same as me. And then we met.”

“And then we met,” Hannibal echoed, taking Will’s hand in his and kissing his knuckles lightly.

Sadness and tenderness were battling for dominance. Will didn’t know which one would win, but in the end his body made a decision itself, without consulting his mind. It shifted to Hannibal — closer and closer, until there was no distance left between them. Hannibal readily accepted him, pulling him to his chest and hiding his face in his hair.

Will closed his eyes briefly, allowing himself to enjoy the sensation. Then he asked, “Do you regret meeting me?”

Hannibal turned to stone. Silence grew, stretched for one minute, then two. The only sound Will could hear was Hannibal’s breathing into his hair, silently and otherwise motionlessly.    

Finally, when he thought he wouldn’t get an answer, Hannibal said, “No.”

Will savored the word, letting it warm him from the inside.

No. Hannibal didn’t regret meeting him, even though it had complicated things and made heartbreak inevitable.

It was a good answer. A comforting one.

Will didn’t regret meeting him either.

They broke the silence only when the meat was ready. Hannibal waited patiently while Will smelled it and poked at it, and chuckled when Will licked it experimentally.

“And how is it?” he asked, his voice polite and reserved, as if he was afraid he was going to start laughing.

“Not bad,” Will examined the roasted piece critically. He tried to imagine it for what it was — a part of a real human, a part of Frederick. Some part of his mind rebelled at the thought, yet his stomach didn’t care and rumbled demandingly.

Cannibalism. Not something Will had ever considered engaging in. Apart from that time in the beginning, when he tore flesh from Mason’s arm — it’d brought him pleasure, Will could still remember it. This, though… this was different. Would it break his moral principles, whatever of them had been left?

Maybe yes. Maybe no. But in the end, why did it matter? His time was coming, Will could sense it. Soon he would turn into meat himself — nothing to lose, no one to disappoint.

He bit into the piece and moaned involuntarily as the hot juice filled his mouth. All last doubts disappeared — he just wanted more.

When Will finally stopped feeling like he was going to die from hunger, he slowed down and realized he was being watched. Hannibal hadn’t even touched his dinner — his eyes were on Will, tracing his every movement, every swallow.

Oh. It figured. _Of course_ Hannibal had a cannibalism kink and reveled in watching someone eat. Was there any disturbing thing this man was not interested in? 

Ignoring the intense attention, Will continued eating. Hannibal finally joined him, and they finished their dinner in comfortable silence.

At midnight, the music sounded. Will watched Abigail Hobbs, looking innocent but confident. He didn’t remember her looking like that in real life. He didn’t know her, not at all, but still the echo of sorrow gripped him from inside, wondering about the life this girl had had, the life she could have had, and the life she still might have in some other universe.

Abigail disappeared — Frederick came into her place. He was almost regal, standing with his head held high, a contemptuous expression on his face. If Will hadn’t interacted with him personally, he would have no idea how ridiculous and maybe endearing Frederick had been.

The guilt stayed silent, and Will was grateful for that.

The third and the last person to appear was the girl from District Twelve, Chiyoh. Will remembered that she’d liked arrows and darts, and that she’d always been quiet and calm. There was something dangerous behind that calmness, dangerous and extremely intelligent.

How had she died? Considering from where they’d heard a gunshot, Chiyoh had probably become another victim of Randall Tier, another person who’d believed the thickest and darkest part of the forest would frighten away other tributes.

Three people dead in one day, eight tributes still living.

Probably would be seven after tonight.

Will scoffed at the thought, wondering if it was self-pity or masochism. The thought of death wasn’t frightening — the perspective of being killed by Hannibal was.

Today, at some point, he had made a decision. If Hannibal tried to attack him during the day, he would fight. If Hannibal attacked him during the night, he would allow himself to be killed — quietly and without struggle.

There was no logic or some real plan behind all this, but it was something Will had decided, and he intended to stick to this decision.

The sky above them suddenly exploded. There was no other word for it. The sound was deafening, and Will instinctively grabbed Hannibal’s hand — protecting? Seeking protection?    

There was no fire, no smoke or sudden heat though. When Will looked up, he saw huge golden letters right above the place they were sitting at.

_Hannibal Lecter & Will Graham    _

Astounded, he turned to Hannibal, and another golden name caught his eyes.

_Randall Tier_

If the letters were above the tribute they named, then it meant Randall was pretty close to them. Still a day or so of walking, but still closer than any other player.

There was also _Bedelia Du Maurier & Jack Crawford & Phyllis Belles_, with Bedelia and Phyllis obviously sitting together and Jack moving south, farther and farther away from them.

Will carefully studied the names of Francis and Garret, mesmerizing who was where.

Randall was their biggest chance to reduce the number of tributes. He was the closest, and the mere thought of attacking him filled Will’s blood with adrenaline.

Randall seemed like a decent opponent. Fighting against him, together with Hannibal — the idea was intoxicating.

Would they have a chance to do this? Will supposed he would find out soon. The next move belonged to Hannibal, after all.

“I see Bedelia has found herself some allies,” Hannibal remarked, still watching the sky. “Interesting. I didn’t expect her to pick the tributes from District Four.”

“I’m more interested in knowing how Jack Crawford has allowed Bedelia to even approach Phyllis,” Will commented wryly. “He always seemed protective, and Bedelia is… unreliable.”

“Yes, you may call her that,” Hannibal’s lips twitched. “I try to imagine what sort of bargain they struck. There must be something Bedelia wants from Jack.”

“Killing you?” Will suggested. “You destroyed her initial alliance with both Abel Gideon and yourself. She seems like someone who would want revenge to me.”

Hannibal, to Will’s surprise, looked genuinely taken aback.

“What, you don’t think she wants you dead?” Will scoffed. He would never understand the relationship between the career tributes. What was up with Bedelia, anyway? She had been jealous of him, or at least believed him to be a threat. Her sending Gideon after him spoke volumes. But would she kill Hannibal now, after he had refused her and killed her ally?

Had they been lovers in the past?  

Frowning at the disturbing thought, Will shook his head.

Where the hell had it even come from?

“I’m not sure what Bedelia thinks,” Hannibal shrugged. “But I doubt the bargain she made is about me. Jack Crawford is not my enemy, he has no reasons to target me personally.”

“Maybe he resents your indecency.”

“Indecency?” Hannibal lifted his eyebrows. “What evil slander is that? I’m never indecent.”

“Some people will disagree. With your penchant for eating humans and all.”

“I see you have little understanding of what the word ‘indecent’ means,” the indignation in Hannibal’s voice made Will laugh.

“Maybe,” he conceded. “Or maybe you just overestimate its meaning.”

They stopped talking for a while. Soon, the names disappeared from the sky, though Will could still say which tributes were at what parts of the forest. Showing each other’s location to tributes was not something the Gamekeepers used often, but Will had already seen it during several previous Games. Usually it had some purpose, so he wondered what exactly the Gamekeepers hoped to achieve here.

To warn Randall that he and Hannibal were coming? To show the unexpected alliance between Bedelia, Jack, and Phyllis?

Will didn’t notice how he began to fall asleep in the midst of his thoughts. He snapped back to attention only when Hannibal’s eerily calm voice asked, “Will? Are you sleeping?”

Oh.

Once again, then.

The misery he felt at the realization was bitter, but not as painfully blinding as yesterday.

At least this time he’d been expecting it.

At least this time the disappointment and pain wouldn’t kill him.

It still hurt.

He felt Hannibal pick the knife and approach him. Felt the cold blade on his neck — faster than it’d happened yesterday.

Maybe Hannibal decided to avoid thinking and to just kill him quickly, without giving himself time to change his mind again.

The blade, however, disappeared almost immediately. Through half-opened lids, Will watched Hannibal jerk his hand back, as if even touching Will’s skin with the knife was intolerable. He heard a shaking sigh, and then Hannibal just sat near him, still holding the knife but not moving.

The minutes began to pass. Bored, Will started to count them, wondering if this was ever going to end. Seriously, how much more time did Hannibal need to make a decision? If he wanted to kill him, he had to do it now, until more tributes died, until killing him secretly became impossible.

“Will,” Hannibal whispered. He sounded utterly wrecked, and despite his bitterness and resentment, Will still felt his heart clench.

God.

‘ _Just do it,_ ’ he thought. ‘ _Just do it at last. Waiting so much — it’s unbearable._ ’

Nothing happened. Hour kept bleeding into another hour, and Hannibal was just sitting with his knife, staring somewhere unseeingly. His uneven breathing was startlingly soothing, and Will fell asleep to it, wondering if he was going to wake up.

 

 

***

 

 

Morning did come. Will opened his eyes to daylight and Hannibal watching him, looking pale and tired.

“Did you sleep?” Will demanded. Hannibal shrugged almost guiltily, but he didn’t really need to answer — the truth was written on his haggard face.

What the hell was he trying to prove?

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” Will sat up and touched Hannibal’s forehead. So cold. “It was an amazing opportunity for both of us to sleep — we saw that other tributes were far away from here. So why did you insist on staying up all night, and more importantly — why didn’t you _wake me_? Again!”

“I don’t need a lot of sleep,” Hannibal said, annoyed, yet he closed his eyes, clearly enjoying Will’s touch. “I told you that before.”

“Your body doesn’t appear to agree with you.” Will withdrew his hand and stood up. “You promised to wake me up yesterday and you didn’t. I won’t be able to trust you again now.”

A wounded expression that flickered across Hannibal’s face made Will stop and clear his throat awkwardly.

“About this,” he clarified. “About telling me you’ll wake me up so I could keep watch and not doing it. From now on, you’ll be the one to sleep first. Or we’ll be both sleepless and tired, and something stupid like falling branch will eventually kill us.”        

“Falling branch is _not_ going to kill me,” Hannibal stated in disdain. Will rolled his eyes.

“Whatever,” he said. “So. What are we doing today?”

“Still walking,” Hannibal glanced ahead. “If my calculations are correct and nothing has changed during the night, we will reach Randall Tier today in the evening. Then we can sleep and go farther — I still want to see where the arena ends.”

“Is it wise to attack Randall at night?” Will tried to imagine it, Tier hiding behind some bushes, in his self-made costume, and them, stumbling around, blind, with Hannibal sleeping on his feet.   

Hannibal hesitated.

“We’ll see,” he said finally.

 

 

***

 

 

They talked about their previous lives. They talked about their families — all dead, no one waiting and praying, staring at the screen. They talked about their Districts, the things that inspired them, the things they preferred to stay away from.

During the intervals of silence, Will thought about Hannibal killing him. Hannibal asking if he was asleep, Hannibal crawling to him with a knife in his hand, Hannibal pressing the sharp blade against his throat. Will’s imagination went further, showing him the moment when Hannibal finally did push the blade in, cutting and cutting, without remorse, eyes empty and cold. He saw himself, choking on blood and heartache, looking at Hannibal and thinking, ‘ _I love you_ ’.     

Even in his mind, those words sounded foreign, strange. Will stopped walking for a moment, repeating them again.

I love you.

Did he? Did he really love? _Could_ he love?

Yes. Yes, he could. And he did.

Will looked at Hannibal intently, thinking about loving him. Killing him.

What if tonight, after Hannibal finally fell asleep, he himself would stab him? It would be so easy — Hannibal was obviously sleep deprived, he wouldn’t be able to stay awake. And he probably wouldn’t wake up even as Will started to cut into him.

He imagined it, too. Hannibal’s death — Hannibal’s blood staining his face, Hannibal’s eyes, no longer cold or warm, staring somewhere where Will couldn’t go.

Shuddering, Will shook his head harshly, banishing the image from his mind. He didn’t have to think about it to know that he would never do it. No, he couldn’t bear even the thought of killing Hannibal, it was impossible.

Loving him was the only option, then.

Will carefully locked this realization up, knowing that Hannibal would never know about it.

Some things had to stay hidden.

 In the late afternoon, they reached the clearing with a miniscule, round lake in the middle of it. Will let out a relieved breath and hastened to approach it, taking out an almost empty bottle out of his backpack.

They had been trying to save the water as much as possible, but after several days there were only a few drops of it left. Now they would finally manage to get some more. It would last for days, and then…

Then it would stop being an issue. The end — not only of his life, but of the Games — was approaching, Will knew it. Three, maybe four days. And that’s it.

The water was cold. Will took a gulp of it and grimaced.

“What?” Hannibal asked.

“It’s somewhat salty,” Will frowned, examining the water. “Not much, but I’m not sure if it’s safe to drink it.”   

Hannibal approached the lake, kneeling beside it and tasting the water.

“Interesting,” he murmured, mostly to himself.

“Is it artificial salt?” Will asked.

“I’m not sure what to think, exactly. As you know, my District doesn’t have rivers or any other large sources of water, but I have read books on the subject. Saline water is usually associated with oceans, and this lake is too small to be real. Maybe it was made by the Gamekeepers for entertainment, or maybe the real ocean is near the arena.”

“We have to find a way to get the salt out of the water,” Will glanced at the glistening surface critically. “And I think it would be best if we spent the night here.”

“Why?”

“You need to sleep. No, shut up,” Will glared when Hannibal started to speak. “You look half-dead. You have to rest, not fight another tribute. We are very close to him as it is — getting even closer is dangerous. And I doubt we’ll find a place as comfortable as this anyway.”

Hannibal looked dissatisfied, but eventually he nodded.

“Fine,” he said shortly. “But we need food, and we need water.”

“I think I can provide us with food,” Will grinned, seeing dark silhouettes swarming under the water.

“You still don’t have a fishing rod.”

“I do have hands. I told you that, remember?” Will gazed at Hannibal from under his lashes, and hunger that flashed in Hannibal’s eyes made his face redden.

A few more days and he’d turn into flirtatious, mindless addict. And if he’s lucky, he’d stop being so embarrassed about it every god-damn time.

The already familiar tinkling sound distracted him, and Will looked at the package that was slowly descending, right between him and Hannibal.

“They really started to be invested in this,” he said, pleasantly surprised. “Second package in three days when before Brian didn’t even bother. Same goes for your mentor, I suppose.”

“It’s a good strategy,” Hannibal took the package and started to unwrap it. “They both chose to save the money they were getting to give us something meaningful.”

“Was that first package with dinner meaningful?” Will asked dubiously, and a smile touched Hannibal’s lips.

“I believe that was encouragement,” he said. “The real gift must be in this one. By now, they must have a lot of money — only several tributes are left. They can afford something valuable.”

Will stared at a strange, long tube Hannibal was now holding, trying to imagine what it could be for.

“What is this?” he asked. Hannibal turned the tube in his hands, his face alight with interest and curiosity. Finally the realization must have come, because he grinned, looking suddenly young and happy. 

“It’s for desalination,” he stated confidently. “It’ll help us separate salt from the water and to collect it — we could use it for meals, for example. If they sent this to us instead of some advanced weapon, it must mean we’ll encounter more lakes like this, and thirst won’t be our problem.”

Will glanced at the trees, wondering where the cameras could be. Smiling, he waved in the direction where he thought he’d spotted one.

“Thank you,” he said, and immediately felt ridiculous.

Hannibal got busy with trying to desalinate water in the bottles, and Will decided it was time to secure dinner for them. It wasn’t dark yet, so the air wasn’t chillingly cold. He took off his clothes, leaving only underwear, and stepped into the water. The coldness made him wince.

When Will was up to his neck in water, he turned to Hannibal and almost laughed at the expression on his face. He forgot all about desalination and was now staring at him, in a way that made Will both excited and flustered.

“What are you doing?” Hannibal asked, so softly that Will barely recognized his voice.

“Pretending to be a fish,” he said. The chuckle that escaped Hannibal’s chest was so genuine that Will smiled in return involuntarily.

“They have to get used to me,” he explained. “I did it sometimes at home, just for fun. It worked.”

“I’ll be honored to watch you,” Hannibal tilted his head. “The hunt deserves utmost attention.”   

“You’re only embarrassing me and scaring away all the fish,” Will informed him. “Can you not look at me? Especially like this.”

“I’m afraid it’s impossible,” Hannibal didn’t smile, but his eyes were almost tender. “You are too beautiful to look away.”

“Oh my God,” Will groaned, and before Hannibal could say anything more embarrassing, he went underwater, letting the coldness soothe his burning face.

Something caught his attention and he curiously dipped lower, looking at the narrow tunnel that was leading somewhere under the ground.

Maybe there truly was an ocean here, and this weird lake debouched into it?

It wasn’t possible to check it, though, not without risking drowning, so Will went back up to the surface. He was startled to see Hannibal right in front of the lake, looking anxious. As soon as he saw him he relaxed, and worry disappeared from his face in a blink, as if he’d simply deleted it.

“Found anything?” Hannibal asked, going back to their desalinating tube. Will’s brows furrowed.

“As the matter of fact, yes,” he said, watching Hannibal closely. He seemed… embarrassed.

Had he been scared when Will disappeared underwater?

Well. It was both sweet and irritating. For someone who wanted to kill him, Hannibal was surprisingly overprotective.

“There is some kind of tunnel,” Will said out loud. “The fish can pass through it, but we can’t. Maybe it leads to some cave underground, or it’s just a tunnel filled with water… maybe it goes straight into the ocean.”

“The ocean,” Hannibal repeated. “I wonder if it is real, or just another piece of the arena that was included because it looked visually stunning.”  

“Maybe we’ll see — if no one disturbs our plan to reach the end of the arena.”

“No one will,” Hannibal said, and it sounded like a dark promise. Will squinted against the sun, shaking his wet curls.

“I’m going fishing,” he announced again.

“Yes, I thought so,” Hannibal lowered his head, hiding a smile. “Good luck.”

Will chose the place and stood still, watching the surface attentively. Soon fish started to pass all around him, but he kept waiting for a while before abruptly moving his arms.

A fish of medium size tried to free itself from his grasp, so Will hurriedly rose from the water and took it outside, putting it on the ground.

“One ready,” he called out. He knew Hannibal was watching his every move, but refused to actually look back at him. This man was too distracting — it was impossible to get any work done under his scrutiny.

Will went back into the water, stilling and waiting again. At one point he stopped fighting the temptation and glanced at Hannibal. As he’d expected, Hannibal’s eyes were on him, admiring and full of longing. Will swallowed, staring, willing his pounding heart to calm down.

The fish touched his hand, as if wanting to be caught. All he had to do was clench it in his arms and take it to where the first one was lying — so he did.

After an hour he decided to stop. There was enough fish for today and tomorrow, and the air started to get colder. When Will walked out of the lake, he was shivering. Hannibal immediately wrapped him into their jackets and held him close.

Will thought of protesting but then decided against it. He relaxed, putting his head on Hannibal’s chest and almost purring as Hannibal started to rub his hair with one hand in an attempt to dry it.

“You spent too long in there,” Hannibal said in disapproval. “Did you manage to forget how cold it gets at night? If you get sick, the game will be over.”

“No, it won’t,” Will murmured sleepily. The warmth and a scalp massage were too alluring, lulling him to slumber. “If I got sick, we could just kill others quickly and be done with it.”

There was a pause, and then Hannibal said, “Yes. Yes, we could.”

They couldn’t, actually — Will wasn’t an idiot to really believe it. Considering Hannibal’s own plans, it was even more ridiculous, but if Hannibal wanted to indulge him… well, Will supposed he could be grateful. It was blissfully nice to live in delusion for a while.

They made a fire as it got dark, and Will wondered if Randall Tier could hear them. He wasn’t sure how much distance was between them, so they had to be on full alert tonight.

The fish was delicious, although Hannibal had made faces at first, watching it cook with a barely concealed disgusted expression.

“What do you have against fish?” Will had finally demanded. “You eat people, but you can’t stomach looking at something that is actually supposed to be eaten?”

“People are supposed to be eaten,” Hannibal assured him.

“Right,” Will scowled.

When Hannibal stared at his cooked fish, his nose creased. He glanced at Will, and whatever murderous emotion he saw on his face was enough to make him take a bite.    

Things went easier after that. They finished their meal and Will moved to the familiar warmth of Hannibal’s arms, enjoying the full stomach, the darkness around them, and the mere thought of being alive.

He thought of other things, too. He thought of the night and of what it might bring. He thought of Randall Tier, probably waiting for them somewhere.

He thought of Peter. His suits, his smile, his enthusiastic attitude and his kindness.

Hannibal had destroyed all it. Reba… Reba was different. Will could understand — reluctantly and unwillingly, but he could.

Peter, though… his death was meaningless. He’d died just because Hannibal wanted it, and whenever Will thought about it, he knew that this was something he would never be able to accept.

“Why did you kill him?” he murmured. Hannibal stopped caressing his hair.

“Why did I kill whom?”

“You know who I’m talking about.”

The caressing resumed, and Hannibal said, “You can call him by name. The Gamekeepers know very well who murdered Peter at this point, but they care about the Games being interesting more than they care about him.”

“Yeah, and what happens if you win?” annoyed, Will pulled away. Hannibal was a mixture of extreme contradictions. He intended to kill him, but kept hovering over him protectively. His self-preservation instincts were supposed to be high since he obviously longed to win, but at the same time he possessed some of the most disturbing suicidal tendencies Will had ever seen.

“That remains to be seen.”

Hannibal’s vague answer only infuriated him more.

“Do you even understand that you will probably be arrested? They won’t forgive you for killing one of them, your victory won’t save you.”

“We’ll see,” Hannibal repeated, and smiled. “I appreciate your concern, though. You always surprise me, Will.” 

“If you don’t care about your own safety, then answer me.” Will stared at him. “Why did you kill Peter?”

Hannibal sighed, as if the answer pained him.

“You already know why,” he said finally, and Will felt his eyebrows climb all the way up his forehead.

“Are you trying to tell me you were jealous? Of a stylist who is supposed to dress people? You had one yourself, but you didn’t see me going mental over it!”

Hannibal’s lips twitched, as if Will had just said something extremely pleasing to him.

“Not because he was dressing you, no,” he replied. The amusement suddenly faded, replaced by darkness. “The way he was talking about you. The way he looked at you. The stories of your past that you shared with him, while refusing to even speak to me. It _sickened_ me. It was intolerable to watch.”

The quiet vehemence behind each word made Will shudder.

The meaning of it made him want to cry.

“He was lying,” he whispered. “Peter was lying, and you just… bought into it? He was saying those things to make me look better in front of the cameras. You knew how I was acting. Did you honestly believe I’d share myself so freely? With anyone?”

“Not with anyone,” Hannibal said guardedly. “That is exactly why Peter had to go.”

“Because you thought he was important.” Will shook his head in disbelief. “I have no idea how to feel about it. I don’t know which is worse — you killing a good person just because you felt jealous or you killing someone you thought I cared about.”

Hannibal didn’t answer. Will took a deep breath and settled against the backpack, fighting nausea.

It had been a mistake to start this conversation, to think about Peter at all. It was painful and it had only brought more pain with it.

“Will,” Hannibal spoke so softly that Will barely heard him.

“What?” he asked.    

“If I had known… I would have done things differently.”

It was a small comfort, but Will still felt something inside him melt. He sent a small, sad smile to Hannibal, and murmured, “You should sleep. I’ll wake you up in three-four hours.”

Hannibal’s wistful expression shuttered. Coldness entered his eyes, spreading all over his face, and Will bit his lip, knowing very well what it meant.

“You sleep first,” Hannibal uttered. His voice was frosty. “I will not break my promise this time. I swear.”

‘ _Interesting phrasing_ ’, Will thought. Just what promise had Hannibal meant? The one where he said he would wake him up, or the one where he told him that while Reba lived, Will had nothing to fear from him?

Were there any other promises?

“Okay,” Will agreed quietly. The plan started to form in his head, making him feel stronger. “Goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight, Will.” It had sounded very much like ‘ _goodbye_ ’, and Will had to close his eyes, because the moisture he felt in them would have ruined everything.

He wasn’t going to fall asleep. Not this time. He would wait for Hannibal to make his decision, and if he still couldn’t…

Well, then Will would have to make that decision by himself.

Time passed. Will tried to make his breathing as even as possible, and soon was rewarded — Hannibal called his name, in a voice that Will really started to hate.

Then he picked the knife.

Will didn’t look at him this time. His eyes remained closed. He felt Hannibal crawling to him, stopping just a breath away. Cold lips touched his forehead.

“I have to,” Hannibal’s whisper burned his ear, almost making him shiver. “I have to, do you understand? I must.”  

Will said nothing. He felt another kiss, this one more fervent. Then Hannibal pressed the knife against his throat, and the movement was so confident and precise that Will was sure this was it. No more hesitation, no more delaying the inevitable.

The strength with which the blade was pressed against him was startling. Its sharp edges cut into him, almost breaking skin, and the breath of the Death flickered across his face, waiting to engulf him.   

Hannibal wavered. The pressure against Will’s neck suddenly loosened. A strange, bitter half-sob, half-laugh escaped Hannibal’s chest, and then the blade was replaced by lips. Hannibal kissed his bruised skin apologetically, again and again, and Will would have definitely woken up by now if he had been really sleeping.

Hannibal placed the last kiss on his lips and moved away. Will finally opened his eyes, watching how he hunched in front of the fire, looking miserable and shattered.

A surge of warmth and affection that flooded him was so strong that it made his eyes water. Blinking, he tried to hold back the tears, but one still escaped, running down his cheek.

Hannibal couldn’t kill him. Maybe it had been his last attempt, or maybe he’d try again later — any way, it no longer mattered.

Will was going to have to take control over the situation now. Things needed to progress further — they no longer had time to keep going in circles.

Hannibal genuinely wanted to win, but his feelings were the biggest obstacle on the path to victory.

Will would remove this obstacle. Hannibal would have his chance.

He’d make sure of it.

After fifteen minutes of stillness Will pretended to wake up. He stirred and yawned, and sat up, murmuring, “Hannibal? How much time has passed?”

“Not much,” Hannibal’s voice was hoarse, and he stared at him as if he was seeing him for the first time. “Why are you awake? Is something wrong?”

“No. I just don’t feel like sleeping,” stretching, Will crawled to the fire. “Thanks to you, I had full nights of sleep recently. Now it’s your turn.”

“Will, I told you—”

“You have to sleep,” Will cut him off sharply. “You know it and I know it. Besides, we had a deal. So sleep, and I promise I’ll wake you up if I feel sleepy later.”

Hannibal looked reluctant, but after a pause he nodded. This time it was Will who pulled him into his arms, forcing his head on his knees, and when Hannibal froze in surprise, Will kissed the top of his head.

“Sleep,” he repeated. “I’ll keep you safe.”

The gentle smile that blossomed on Hannibal’s face made his insides tighten. Hannibal settled in a more comfortable position and closed his eyes, and Will began to stroke his hair, admiring light brown strands, occasionally woven with silver.   

Soon Hannibal fell asleep, looking peaceful and trusting. Will spent the majority of the night looking at him, still stroking his hair, thinking about everything and nothing.

When the sky above them started to turn pink, Will waited some more, and then carefully removed Hannibal from his knees, lowering his head onto the backpack instead. He didn’t stir — the exhaustion of sleepless night made him deaf and blind to everything.

It was for the better.

Will picked up the knife and looked at Hannibal one more time, mesmerizing his features.   

“Goodbye,” he whispered. The pain nearly made his knees buckle.  

With that, he moved toward the trees, and soon the clearing with its small lake disappeared from view.

Randall Tier would be thrilled to meet him.


	10. Chasing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so very much for your constant support and your amazing comments! They mean a lot to me. I was so excited after the Con that I finished the chapter sooner than I had planned. I hope you'll like it!

This part of the forest really _was_ impenetrable, Will thought, making his way through the thick trees. He was walking slower than he had initially intended, but maybe it was for the better. Move too fast — and miss Randall Tier who was probably lying here somewhere, pretending to be a bush.

Twenty minutes were separating him and Hannibal when one of the branches cracked. Will whirled around, clenching his knife, and saw some unrecognizable shape jump on him from the nearest tree. Sharp claws tore into his shoulder and he cried out, stumbling and trying not to fall. Falling right now would mean death, and while Will didn’t seriously expect to come out of this fight alive, he didn’t intend to just give himself up. Randall was going to get his part of injuries, and when Hannibal found him, he would have no problems with killing him, suit or not.

Randall roared, lunging at him again, and Will dashed to the nearest tree. The suit, whatever it was made of, was clearly too heavy, because Randall didn’t manage to change the direction and crashed into the ground where Will had been standing seconds ago. It gave him some time, so Will stared at the suit, trying to figure out how to get under it.

Randall had done an amazing job, and he probably had sponsors, because metal was not something he could have found in the forest. Lines and lines of protective armour — how to break it?

Will could see now how Randall had easily killed a surprising number of tributes. There were so many trees and bushes here, such a cemetery of fallen branches that it was almost impossible to move. All Randall had to do was wait for someone to stumble and to tear them apart with his metallic claws.

His suit looked unbreakable, but Will kept quickly analyzing it, looking for weak spots.

The knees. They were not protected.

The head. It was half-covered with an animal skull, toothless, filled with green leaves and branches so it would be easier to blend in. The skull was harmless, even though it looked frightening, and it affected the way Randall was seeing because when he threw himself at Will once again, his aim was off.

The flickers of real excitement started to lick his skin, and when Randall hurled himself forward, Will jumped again, this time laughing.

He felt delirious. His head was spinning with rapture, his blood sang with adrenaline, and everything suddenly seemed perfect, effortless. This time, when Randall sprang toward him, Will crouched abruptly and kicked him in the knee, reveling in the surprised yelp. The claws nearly took the skin off his back, but he quickly rolled away and then jumped back to his feet, ready and waiting.

Randall seemed completely inhumane. It was like spending so much time in this suit had destroyed the last shreds of his rational conscious, so he blindly attacked again, without stopping to think of the strategy, wanting only to tear and wreck. Will quickly moved to another tree, hoping another miss would sufficiently enrage Randall, but his leg suddenly sank into the sea of branches. Cursing, he jerked, and even though he managed to free himself, it was too late — Randall’s claws slashed his shoulder, the same that was already bleeding, and Will cried when pain exploded, overwhelming him for a second. Knowing he couldn’t waste time, he plunged his knife into Randall’s knee and ducked when another hand with claws passed right near him, attempting to get to his throat. Randall howled, and Will pulled the knife back, crawling away and watching the thrashing form warily.

“WILL!”

Hannibal’s voice sounded in a distance, far away from here, but Will still froze, snapping his head in its direction.

Hannibal.

Hannibal had woken up.

Hannibal realized where he had gone to.

Hannibal came looking for him.

And he sounded terrified.

This moment of inattention cost Will dearly. He heard a whistling sound and barely managed to move when one of the claws slashed his cheek, leaving warm blood flowing down his neck freely. Will must have made some pained noise because Hannibal screamed his name again, almost desperately this time.

Trying to ignore the tearing pain that was rapidly devouring his body, Will kicked Randall in the same unprotected knee. Several precise movements — and he sank the knife right into the uncovered part of Randall’s face, through the chin, pressing further mindlessly, suddenly wanting only to see Hannibal again, even briefly.

The gunshot sounded, and Will let out a trembling sigh, leaning against the tree.

“NO!” Hannibal’s cry made him jerk, made him try to answer, but his voice refused to work. “WILL!”

He sounded closer now — was probably running. Will pressed his sleeve to the bleeding wound on his face, wondering if the blood loss was serious enough and if they would be able to stop it.

If Hannibal would even want to stop it. But, considering the anguish in his screams… considering he hadn’t even thought for long before coming after him…

Yes. Hannibal would want to stop it. They had both fallen victims to this strange, addictive feeling between them, and there was nothing in the world now that could shatter it.

Hannibal obviously didn’t think about being quiet, rushing through the forest, but the speed he moved with still took Will aback. One moment he was alone, with Randall’s body lying on the ground, and in the next Hannibal was already there, kneeling in front of him and showering his face with quick, desperate kisses.

“You are alive,” he whispered. “You are alive. You are alive.”

Will tried to smile at him, but his cheek protested.

“Think you can stop the blood?” he asked, and for a second, Hannibal’s lips curled in a snarl.

“Idiot,” he hissed. “What were you thinking? What did you want to prove?”

“Nothing,” Will said truthfully, but Hannibal looked even more enraged by his answer.

“Do you have any idea how I felt?” he spat through clenched teeth, his voice harsh, but his hands surprisingly gentle on Will’s face. “I woke up and you weren’t there. You disappeared. And you were saying something about trust? How can I trust you now, when you did something like this?”

“I was thinking about you,” Will sighed. Hannibal still looked ashen and furious, even though he had no reason to be.

“Excuse me?” Now his words were downright icy. “You were thinking about _me_?”

“Yes.”

“You abandoned me.”

“I tried to give you what you want.”

“By _leaving_ me?” Hannibal stared at him in such incredulous way that a short laugh escaped Will’s chest.

“It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” he asked, and raised his eyebrows, even though every movement hurt. “To win the Games. To kill me. You tried to do it every night — I thought I would make the task easier for you.”

Hannibal was stricken. Slowly, his hand fell, and he stood up, pale as death and not taking his eyes off Will.

Dark, vindictive satisfaction swelled up within him when Hannibal continued to be silent, just looking lost and dismayed. Wincing from pain coursing through him, Will asked, “What? Why are you staring like that? I was doing you a favor. You wanted it, but you couldn’t force yourself to make the final step. I made it for you.”

“This was not what I wanted,” Hannibal whispered, and now he looked horrified. Will frowned, wondering if blood loss was making him slower than usual.  

“What?” he repeated.

“It would have driven me crazy. If I woke up with you dead, if I saw your phantom in the evening… I would have lost my mind,” Hannibal closed his eyes abruptly. “Do you understand me? If you watched me every night, then you had to know that I couldn’t… that you… that I…” Hannibal’s voice trailed off. For a moment, silence stretched between them, and Will carefully shifted, wondering how he could possibly be the one feeling guilty in this situation, where this strange need to comfort Hannibal had even come from.

“Look at me,” he murmured quietly. “Hey. Look at me. Please.”

Slowly, Hannibal looked up, and regret, sorrow, and fear in his eyes nearly took Will’s breath away. He made an inviting gesture, and Hannibal moved to him after short hesitation, pressing their foreheads together.

“I didn’t leave you to make you feel guilty or to punish you,” Will said gently. “It was never my intention.”

“How could this not have been punishment?” Hannibal breathed out. “It was my worst nightmare, finding you gone. Knowing exactly where you went, and how few chances of stopping you I had.”

“It would have been easier. Eventually, you would have understood. Look at us,” Will laughed weakly, pointing between them. “We can’t both win. You know this. One of us will have to die sooner or later, and I’d prefer it to be me. Because I don’t want a victory.”

“Shut up!” Hannibal growled, suddenly squeezing his shoulders so hard that Will cried out in pain. Hannibal’s grip didn’t loosen — on the contrary, it got even stronger. “I hate when you talk like this. Suicidal tendencies do not suit you, Will, so stop saying you want to die. I won’t allow it. You yourself won’t allow it — do you want to know why? Look. Look!” Hannibal jerked him so he would see Randall, still in his suit. “This is not what suicidal people do. You may think you have to die, but your mind refuses to let you, and your survival instincts will always, _always_ remain strong. You will protect yourself with everything you have — it’s in your blood, and you can’t change it, no matter how hard you might try.”

Will considered it for a moment, remembering the euphoria consuming him during the fight with Randall, the nearly insane ecstasy he felt when his knife pierced Randall’s chin, stealing his life.

“Maybe,” he admitted. “Maybe you are right. But not completely, because I would have let you kill me.” Will stared at Hannibal and smiled at the look on his face. “I still might,” he added.

“Never,” Hannibal said vehemently. “Do you hear me, Will? Never.”

Some part of him rejoiced in the determined, fierce look Hannibal had, but another one felt sad.

It wasn’t going to end happily. One of them _would_ die, and Will still preferred it to be him.

“I’m going to need some herbs for your wounds,” Hannibal murmured, examining his shoulder carefully. “There might be scars, but nothing too ugly.”

“Yes, especially on my face,” Will shook his head. “You don’t have to comfort me. I don’t mind the scars.”

“Of course you don’t,” the look Hannibal sent him this time was so enamored that Will felt a familiar blush warming his skin. Huffing, he started to get up, but Hannibal pushed him back forcefully.

“No,” he said. “First I find the herbs, then we stop the blood. After that… we’ll decide.”

Will chose not to argue.

Hannibal came back just in several minutes, hovering over him and cleaning his wounds before placing strange, wide leaves on top of them.

“Here,” he uttered. “Press and hold it for ten minutes.”

“Thank you,” Will thought about kissing him, and judging from the way Hannibal kept staring, there was nothing that he wanted more.

Still, something stopped him, so Will just gave him another smile.

“I’ll go back for our things,” he said. “You stay with Randall and do your thing.”

“My thing?” Hannibal inquired mockingly.

“Our thing,” Will amended, and laughed at the brilliant smile that lit Hannibal’s face up. “We can’t leave the body, and we need our backpacks. I don’t think it will take me long, but I hope you’ll have some breakfast for me when I get back.”

His words seemed to please Hannibal, because he was positively glowing when Will leaned to kiss him after all. Their lips lingered, unwilling to separate, and as Will stepped away, he felt an aching longing wash over him.

“I’ll be back soon,” he promised, just to say something, and Hannibal nodded.

“I’ll be waiting,” he said softly.

The walk back to their lake felt endless. Will’s thoughts revolved around Hannibal, and the way he had probably been running on this exact path, trying to catch up, knowing he might be too late.

He had come. For him, worrying about his safety, wanting to protect him.

Will still couldn’t believe it, but the warm feeling kept growing stronger in his chest, making him smile all the time.

At the lake, he bent over to collect their things, wondering how many more days they had left. With water, fish, and meat, they could hide in some cave and spend at least a week there, pretending there was no one around, just enjoying each other.

Will realized that something was wrong when it was already too late. He could feel someone’s presence behind his back, but as he turned, startled, all he managed to see was Jack Crawford’s grim face.

Then the whole world darkened.

 

 

***

 

 

When Will opened his eyes the next time, for a second he couldn’t understand what had happened. He could still see the lake, but his hands were twisted behind his back, his torn shoulder screamed in pain, and he was… tied to a tree?

The memories returned, and the dread settled heavily in his stomach.

Jack Crawford had followed him to the lake and attacked him. Hit him, probably, since the left side of his face was in agony. And… that’s it? Why not kill him? Why tie him to a tree, what the hell was that?

Will tried to move his hands and exhaled when a fresh wave of pain hit him. The rope was tight — so tight that it was difficult to breathe, and his hands were already getting numb.

What could Jack want from him? Will had nothing important to offer. Except…

His eyes flew open, and with a snarl, Will jerked his hands, trying to find the knots.

Hannibal. Jack wanted to get to Hannibal through him. Either he was planning on using him as bait, or he intended to interrogate him about Hannibal’s whereabouts. Whatever it was, he planned to destroy Hannibal with his help, and Will was never going to let it happen.

Gritting his teeth, he continued to tug and pull at the rope, wanting to scream in anger when his efforts were met with nothing.

Jack was a strong man and he knew how to use his strength. But…

But Will also wasn’t useless. He knew a lot about the ropes, and he knew how to tie — or untie — the knots.

He could break free. Jack Crawford wasn’t better than him, at least not in this, so all he had to do was to calm down and keep trying.

“ _Come_ _on_ ,” he growled after another unsuccessful attempt, and this time his fingers stumbled across the knot he needed.

Good, but it was still far from being loose.

Barely fighting the urge to yell from pain and frustration, Will twisted the knot again, and again, and again. The position was awkward, his nails ached in a way that made him wonder if he had any left, or if they had all been torn in the process.

One of the knots succumbed, but there were several others that still held his hands firmly. Will worked on them, trying not to think about the pain, thinking of Hannibal instead, and of the way he had run to him, collected the healing herbs for him, treated his wounds, being so gentle as if Will could break, even though they both knew it was far from truth.

Hannibal had chosen to forsake the idea of victory for him. Will wasn’t going to forget it.

When the rope finally fell, the rich, intoxicating feeling of freedom almost overpowered him. Will staggered, cursing, fighting the weakness, and walked to his backpack that was still lying near the lake. Hannibal’s was gone, and he wasn’t sure if it meant Jack had taken it or Hannibal had been here himself.

Will checked if he still had water, made several sips and then cleaned himself hastily. His wounds continued to ache, but there was no time to look for the leaves Hannibal had given to him. Will had to get to him, as soon as possible, wherever he was.

Soon his body gave up on the idea of bothering him, and the pain he felt faded from his mind, replaced with anger and steely determination.

Hannibal needed him. Will would find him, and then Jack Crawford was going to pay.

When he approached Randall’s place, his heart jumped and froze. For a moment, between horror and disbelief, Will genuinely couldn't breathe, never mind speak.

Hannibal was lying on the ground, right at the spot where they had last seen each other. He was motionless, and from here Will couldn’t even see if he was breathing at all.

The ice of the shock slowly melted into deadly rage. It spiraled up, burning and roiling in his gut, frightening in its intensity, and Will would have recklessly rushed forward this instant if the rational part of him hadn’t intruded, sounding suspiciously like Hannibal.

_Stop. Think._

One second, but it was all he needed to get a grip on his thoughts.

If Hannibal had been dead, his body wouldn’t be lying here. And, more importantly, Jack Crawford wouldn’t pace in the distance, throwing impatient glances at him.

The elation was vibrant. Will exhaled, closing his eyes briefly, reveling in the realization.

Hannibal was alive. The game wasn’t over yet.

He was alive. He was here.

And Will didn’t intend to let Jack Crawford separate them.

He could wait for Hannibal to wake up and then they could attack Jack together. But…

But there was one thing that made Will doubt this plan.

Jack was holding something in his hand — something that looked like a gun. Hannibal didn’t appear to be hurt, though, there was no blood, so whatever he had been hit with, it wasn’t bullets.

Tranquilizer, maybe?

Hidden between the bushes, Will waited.

And waited.

And waited.  

Finally Hannibal stirred, and when he sleepily reached for someone, Will twitched, wanting nothing more than to be near. He saw the exact moment Hannibal realized something was wrong — his face shuttered, became completely devoid of emotions, and he slowly stood up, staring at Jack.

“Where is Will?” he asked, voice colder than ice.

“Safe,” Jack answered shortly. “For now.”

Hannibal stepped to him, and Jack pointed the gun at him warningly.

“Don’t make me use it again,” he said. “You’ve been out for almost four hours. I can’t lose any more time.”

“What do you want?” Hannibal didn’t attempt to move again, but Will could see tension coiling in his body, as if he was readying to strike at the first opportunity.

“My wife is hurt,” Jack spoke lowly. “That bastard Dolarhyde tried to burn her alive. She’s dying from the wounds, and I need your help.”

“Since when is she your wife, Jack? You did not have a ceremony, if I remember correctly.”

“We had one here,” Jack cut him off sharply. “And it was a damn good ceremony. As you see, we even got gifts.”

“Tranquilizer,” Hannibal drawled. To someone else he might have appeared relaxed, but Will saw through the façade, felt how hard Hannibal was trying to keep his temper in check.

One wrong movement — and he would lash out.

“We’re a pretty popular couple,” Jack stated. “Maybe not as popular as you, but we have our part of fans. Those who support normal people, not freaks like you and your little boyfriend.”

Hannibal lunged at Jack. It happened so quickly that Will almost missed it — one moment Hannibal was standing calmly, and the next he was already throwing Jack onto the ground, moving with brutal speed.

Will shifted instinctively, aching to help, but the rational part of him prevailed again, whispering, _wait_.

Hannibal managed to land a solid blow, but then Jack pushed him away forcefully, pointing the tranquilizer at him again.

“Stop!” he barked. “Stop right now, or I swear you’ll never see that fucking boy again.”

Hannibal froze, breathing heavily, clenching his fists in silent fury. Jack spat out some blood and wiped his mouth with one hand, still holding his weapon.

“Now listen,” he growled. “I know you understand in healing. I know you can help my wife. I want you to come with me, to our camp, and to deal with her burns.”

“I’m not going anywhere until I see Will,” Hannibal said darkly. “You are a fool if you actually believe you can blackmail me.”

“But I can, can’t I?” Jack shrugged dispassionately. “You want to have your boyfriend back. Your boyfriend is already on the way to my camp — or did you think I came here alone? I made a deal with Bedelia Du Maurier from your District. She took Graham while I waited for you to wake up.”

“You’re trying to tell me that Bedelia managed to drag an unconscious person for miles?” Hannibal hissed. “That’s impossible!”

“You underestimate her. You always have, and I’ll never understand why you didn’t choose her as an ally,” Jack smirked, but his expression remained wary. “Bedelia is not happy with you. She wants revenge, so she readily helped me devise my plan. As I said, Phyllis and I have fans. When Bedelia and I discussed our plan, they sent us the necessary equipment, so I don’t think she’ll have a problem with getting Graham to the camp.”

“If you have so many fans with so much money, why didn’t they send your wife the medicine she needs?” Hannibal drawled mockingly. Jack’s face turned thunderous and this time it was he who made a step forward.

“Because it’s a game,” he growled. “A stupid fucking game that only bastards can enjoy. The Gamekeepers want everything to be interesting. There was nothing interesting in giving me what I wanted — they thought making us confront each other would be fun, so they helped.”

“The sky,” Hannibal said flatly.

“Yes,” Jack agreed. “I was trying to locate you, but I was going the wrong way. Then I saw your names on the sky and changed direction, so thanks the Gamekeepers for that.” 

There was a pause, and then Hannibal asked carefully, “How can I know that Will is fine? You give me no guarantees.”

“He isn’t dead,” Jack rolled his eyes. “I’m not stupid, I knew he was my only chance at getting you to cooperate. If you don’t believe me now, you’ll see the sky tonight. He won’t be there.”

“And afterward? I go with you to the camp, I see Will, I help your wife. Then what?”

“We’ll discuss it when we get there,” Jack murmured. He finally lowered his weapon down, and while Hannibal’s eyes tracked his every movement, he remained motionless. “I’m sure we’ll be able to come up with a mutually satisfying agreement.”

“Like what?”

“Like you take your boyfriend and Bedelia, and you get the fuck away from me and Phyllis. Bedelia is smart and manipulative, and I don’t want to see her near my wife. I take enough risks as it is.”

There was a long, tense silence between them. Will could see how Hannibal struggled, how he tried to rationalize everything and to figure out what to do, and how blindly enraged he was behind the calm exterior. He probably understood that the deal with Jack was shaky and dubious, but he was still going to accept it. Will didn’t even have to doubt.

He still had to swallow a lump in his throat when Hannibal nodded sharply.

“I agree,” his voice was quiet, yet the dark promise and threat in it were unmistakable. “But if you lied to me and Will is dead, I swear that I will torture your wife until she begs me to kill her. And even then, I won’t grant her this right. She will be dying for days and weeks, and you will be watching. That’s a promise, Jack. Since you’ve become such allies with Bedelia, you must already know that I always keep my promises.”  

“I know,” Jack said after a moment, disgust distorting his face. “And I told you, Graham is alive. Now let’s get moving, I’m not going to waste more time.”

Hannibal turned around for the last time, looking over the area, probably hoping to spot Will somewhere. It was difficult to be certain, because his face became so emotionless that even Will couldn’t read him now.

The knot of pain in his chest made him breathless with the sudden urge to give Hannibal some sign, to let him know he was there, but Will stopped himself, closing his eyes and counting. Again and again, until the impulse passed.   

Finally Jack and Hannibal started to walk, and Will followed them, mirroring Hannibal’s stealthy movements. Ideas kept turning in his mind as he attempted to work out his strategy.

Jack had left him to die, that was obvious. He couldn’t have killed him right away, because his phantom would have appeared and destroyed all careful planning. So Jack had tied him to a tree, thinking no one would help him and that eventually he would die of thirst or by the hand of some other tribute. 

Jack had also lied about Bedelia. She wasn’t here — was she helping Jack at all? Will remembered their names on the sky, put together, meaning they had indeed formed an alliance. But he doubted Bedelia would work for anyone’s benefits except her own. No, she had her own agenda, and even though Jack was confident enough to leave his wife in her company, he didn’t seem to trust her entirely.

Maybe Bedelia did want her revenge on both him and Hannibal.

Well, Will would be more than happy to provide it.

The thick part of the forest started to change and he had to stop for several minutes, to let Hannibal and Jack get farther away. When they disappeared from view, panic came, sudden and irrational. Panic that he wouldn’t be able to find them, that Jack would take Hannibal away and Will would never see him again.

Swallowing it down, Will concentrated on the sounds. After making sure they had gone far enough, he resumed walking.   

The longer he remained unnoticed, the more confident he became. He could feel anticipation rising from the most primitive parts of his mind, dangerous and addictive, exciting.

Jack was leading them right to his camp. The camp with Bedelia and Phyllis — three tributes out of five. Phyllis was already in a bad shape, and Jack wouldn’t be much of an opponent near her — his instincts to protect would take over self-preservation, making him an easy target. Bedelia was more dangerous, but together with Hannibal, Will was sure they would be able to deal with her.

The victory had never felt this close.

Yes, he decided, following Jack until the camp, then reuniting with Hannibal.

Of course it would be best to reveal himself to Hannibal at night, so they could both play the game with Jack, but it was probably impossible. Still, everything could happen.

Will was looking forward to it.

 

 

***

 

 

Just like he had thought, the night didn’t bring with it the opportunity to give Hannibal a sign of his presence. Both Hannibal and Jack were sitting on different sides of the fire, sending each other death stares, tense and unhappy with the company. The darkness made it difficult to see clearly, but Will still sensed the fight raging in Hannibal. He obviously worked hard to appear calm, bored almost, but Will felt his anxiety as strongly as if he had somehow slipped into Hannibal’s skin, as if he had actually _become_ him. 

Hannibal was fighting for every breath, for every casual movement. Everything in his blood screamed _kill, tear to pieces, find, protect,_ and Will felt his own mind answering with similar words, with the same protective rage burning right under the surface.

The closer it was getting to midnight, the more restless Hannibal became. He shifted closer to the fire to warm his hands, but Will knew it was not coldness that scared him. He was dreading the moment when the dead had to come, and with every passing minute his self-control was getting slippery. The naked terror in his eyes was so bright that Will could see it even from his hiding place, and everything within him clenched in sympathy.

‘ _I’m here_ ,’ he thought. ‘ _I’m all right. I can see you_.’   

Hannibal suddenly jerked his head up, like he’d heard him, but soon his searching gaze filled with defeat and he stared at the fire again, grim and silent.

The music didn’t sound, not even after midnight, and Hannibal relaxed a little, this time for real. His breathing evened out, and he stretched against his backpack, looking at the sky.

Will knew Hannibal wouldn’t be sleeping tonight. Just like Jack. And like Will himself.

One hour kept bleeding into another. It was still dark when a gunshot sounded, loud and startling in the forest quietness. Hannibal jumped to his feet, making several hurried footsteps in its direction before realizing it was too far from here. A frustrated growl tore from his chest and he advanced on Jack, pale with fear and fury.

“If it was Will,” he hissed, “you can start praying for the death of your wife.”    

“If it was my wife,” Jack spat, looking equally enraged, “you can start praying for the death of your boyfriend, because you will never get to him without me, and I won’t tell you anything if Phyllis is dead. Trust me, he isn’t very comfortable at the moment, and the more time will pass, the more desperate for death he’ll become!”

Hannibal snarled — a low, inhumane sound, terrifying in its vigor. His posture shifted as he prepared to attack, and Jack stepped back instinctively, glancing at the discarded tranquilizer.

“Calm down!” he warned, though his voice lacked confidence. “Whatever you want to do, I will give as good as I get, and it will end in blood. Neither your boyfriend nor my wife will benefit from it, so it’s best if we reach them in one piece. Got it?”

Will swallowed, watching how a myriad of emotions flashed across Hannibal’s face — angry, helpless, anguished. Finally he took a deep breath and stepped away from Jack, clenching his fists almost compulsively. 

“We should go right now,” he said hoarsely. “Neither of us is sleeping, so there is no point in waiting.”

“Agree,” Jack muttered darkly. “Let’s move.” 

Will hurried to take several sips of water from his bottle and ate some fish, trying to be as quiet as possible. Hannibal and Jack were too engrossed in their thoughts to watch out or listen, so Will managed to finish his early breakfast in time and to follow them as stealthily as before. His ability to stay unnoticed was filling him with a wonderful sense of power, and for a second he wondered how different things might have been if he and Hannibal had been playing for one team since the beginning, if there had been no Reba, no one else important. Just them, against the rest of the world.

The thought was silly, but something about it made his lips curl up in a small smile.

It is still possible, he mused. And yes, it was. As soon as they arrived to Jack’s camp, the final confrontation would begin, and Will had no doubt as to who would be victorious.

Not Jack. And definitely not Bedelia.

 

The walk was long and quiet. Hannibal and Jack pretended they weren’t in each other’s company, and Will was almost amused to watch it. Despite the sleepless night, he didn’t feel tired — the constant anticipation fueled him, gave him strength, so he actually looked forward to finally arriving to Jack’s camp. Worry and tenderness for Hannibal kept washing over him every time he looked at his rigid back, his tense movements, reading him even without seeing his face.

Soon, Will promised silently. Soon. 

As it was, they reached Jack’s camp even sooner than he’d thought. The sunset was gradually enwrapping the forest when Jack suddenly slowed down, and his breathing grew ragged. The thick, bitter worry started to emanate from him, and Will tensed, knowing they were almost there.

Hannibal realized it, too — he started to throw assessing, dark glances at Jack more and more often, probably gauging his reactions and building his own plans.

Fifteen minutes — and they reached the clearing, very similar to the one Will, Hannibal, and Reba had been staying at in the beginning. There was even a cave and a stream, and if Will hadn’t mesmerized their safe heaven so well, he would have thought it was exactly the same place.

He paused behind one of the trees, carefully watching how Hannibal and Jack approached the cave. He didn’t see Bedelia anywhere, and judging from the nervous look Jack sent to the surroundings, it wasn’t supposed to be this way.

“Phyllis?” he called. At first there was no answer, but then someone coughed from inside the cave. Will narrowed his eyes, staring into the darkness, and soon he managed to distinguish the silhouette of a woman shivering in the corner. It was Phyllis, and even from his place Will could see the abnormal paleness of her face and feel the weakness ravishing her body.

She really was in a very bad shape, and Will doubted Hannibal could do anything even if he wanted to.

Which he definitely didn’t. Hannibal stood with his arms crossed against his chest, watching Jack impassionedly.      

“Where is Will?” he asked quietly.

“He’s with Bedelia,” Jack cleared his throat. “Help my wife first, and then you will take him and Bedelia away from here.”

It sounded so unrealistic that Will could have snorted in derision. Hannibal clearly sensed the lie, too. Will felt the second his aggression flared up, saw how the expression on his face turned murderous.

It was time.

Will took out his knife and moved, knowing that Jack was too busy looking at Hannibal to see him, but before he could reach the clearing, someone’s hands wrapped around his throat, pressing some strange, sharp object against his skin.

“Hello, Will,” the soft voice greeted him, and the wave of helpless fury crashed into him as he recognized Bedelia’s voice. “Let’s present ourselves to our friends, shall we?”

How could he have missed her? How could he not have heard her approach?

Overconfidence. His fucking overconfidence had played a joke on him, and what was supposed to be a triumph had quickly turned into the worst, humiliating nightmare.

“Move,” Bedelia ordered. She was smaller than him, but her hands were surprisingly strong and dangerous, and Will still couldn’t figure out what exactly was pressed against his throat.

He gritted his teeth, almost trembling from anger and disgust at himself. He didn’t want to see the disappointment and anger in Hannibal’s eyes when he realized what had happened. Captured by Bedelia — what could be more degrading?

Taking a deep breath, Will slowly moved toward the clearing, with Bedelia hot on his heels.


	11. Dying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you all so endlessly much for your constant support! It continues to make my days, since work in RL is really stressful right now, and lovely distraction is something much needed. 
> 
> Only one chapter left!

Hannibal didn’t look angry with him.

It was the first thing that Will had noticed when Bedelia pushed him toward the clearing, in front of Hannibal and Jack. Jack was dumbstruck, staring and unable to believe his eyes, while Hannibal... Hannibal exhaled slowly, and the relief on his face was unbearable.

If only Will had sensed Bedelia’s presence earlier. Everything could have been so, so different…

“What is he doing here?” Jack demanded. “How did you find him?”

“He was already here,” Bedelia said. Even without seeing her, Will could tell she was smiling. “He must have followed you. You’re getting sloppy — both of you. How could you not feel him tracing your steps?”

“I tied him to a fucking tree,” Jack snapped. “Are you telling me he freed himself without help?”

Comprehension shone in Hannibal’s eyes as he sent a chilling, deadly gaze in Jack’s direction. Will smiled, despite everything.

At least Hannibal knew now that he had been fighting as well. Fighting for him, for _them_. He hadn’t given up when the situation seemed hopeless, and he wasn’t going to give up now.

“I admit, I’m surprised you came,” Bedelia addressed Hannibal idly. “You must have known there were few chances of your… ally,” those words were practically spat, “still being alive and waiting for you here. Yet you still agreed to go with Jack. It is more than I could have hoped for.”

“What do you want?” Hannibal asked evenly, watching her. Bedelia’s grip on Will’s neck tightened.

“Nothing you can give me,” she murmured, almost regretful. “You ruined everything before the Games had even started properly. I want nothing but to see you destroyed now.”

“We had another deal,” Jack turned to Bedelia angrily. “He has to help Phyllis first, then you all can do whatever you want with each other. I did the hardest part, and I won’t let you back out of this.”

“Then it appears we have a problem, Jack,” Bedelia’s voice became lower, more sinister, and Will tensed. The warnings bells started to ring in his head, deafening in their shrilly loudness. “I am the one who is holding the key to Hannibal’s cooperation now,” Bedelia noted. “You have nothing. If you or Hannibal make even one step to me, I’m going to break his neck,” she stroked Will’s skin with her strange weapon.

“You won’t do it,” Jack laughed in her face, even though his fists were clenched in fury. “Lecter will kill you. _I_ will kill you, and you’ll lose everything.”   

“I think some demonstration is needed then, isn’t it?” Bedelia mused, and before Will could react, she positioned the weapon against his wounded arm and made an abrupt movement.  

There was a sickening crunch — and then the pain came, so intense that Will screamed, jerking in Bedelia’s grip, feeling his bones break one by one.

“Stop it!” Hannibal roared. He sounded so close, but Will was too blinded by the pain to look at him. He thought Bedelia said something quietly, and then she moved the weapon to the upper part of his arm and snapped it once more.

The pain was intolerable. Will screamed again, and through the fog of ache in his mind, he heard Hannibal’s echoing scream.

That was it. There was no time to lose — Bedelia evidently wasn’t playing by any rules, and waiting meant being turned into a cripple.

The pain continued to mercilessly tear him apart, impossible and unnatural in its sharpness, still blinding him, but Will didn’t need to see clearly to act. He kicked Bedelia in the leg as hard as he could, and when she hissed but refused to budge, he did it again, using the elbow of his functioning arm as well this time.

He had nothing to be afraid of any more. Bedelia wasn’t interested in anything other than watching him and Hannibal suffer, and it left him with no choice.

Bedelia stumbled only slightly, still stubbornly clenching her torture device. Will gritted his teeth, readying himself for another blow, trying to chase away the blackness that threatened to engulf him, when Bedelia cried out.

It took him some time to be able to see again, and when he looked up, he saw Bedelia and Hannibal locked in a brutal fight. For the first time, Will remembered that Bedelia was a career tribute, which meant she didn’t necessarily need a weapon to protect herself.

It resembled a dance. They both were moving so quickly that Will found it difficult to watch them and even to understand who was winning. He heard Hannibal’s pained gasp, then Bedelia’s, and quiet words exchanged between them.

What were they talking about? What could be there to discuss, especially during this kind of fight?

Will ached to join them, to help Hannibal, but he knew he would only be a burden. With one of his arms dead, there was little he could do — and considering he’d never been much of a fighter, he would only distract Hannibal.

He looked around, hoping some brilliant thought would come to his mind, and froze when he saw Jack.

In pain and turmoil, he’d almost forgotten about him.

Jack was watching the fight with a blank expression on his face. His eyes were defeated, and something about it stung Will painfully.

He purposefully pushed the sympathy into his farthest corner and stepped to Jack.

Bedelia was Hannibal’s.

Jack was his.

“I can help you,” Will said softly. Jack slowly turned to look at him, as if also just remembering he was here.

“What?” he asked.

“I can help you,” Will repeated. “Both you and your wife.”

Jack’s face twisted in an angry sneer.

“You’re no less of a devil than Lecter is,” he hissed. “Stay the fuck away from me.”

“But it is you who sought us out,” Will retorted. “You wanted Hannibal’s help to ease your wife’s suffering.”

“It was a stupid plan,” Jack said hollowly. He glanced at Bedelia’s weapon that was lying on the ground and then looked at Will again. “There was still a chance when Lecter didn’t know where you were. Now, even if I take you hostage, I won’t know if he gave me the right herbs until it’s too late. Killing you in front of him wouldn’t give me much pleasure if my wife is dead and he knows it. If he had to go and look for you, it would stop him from killing her, but now…” Jack laughed mirthlessly. “Now, there isn’t much to do,” he finished.

“No herbs could possibly help her,” Will said softly, and Jack immediately bristled.

“Shut up!” he barked. “You know nothing!”

“I know enough about death to tell you that Phyllis is dying, and that nothing, maybe not even the city’s medicine can save her.”

The wounded, agonized look Jack sent in the direction of the cave made Will’s heart clench.

He wasn’t lying. He didn’t need to see Phyllis properly to smell the burnt flesh, to notice how her body trembled in semi-darkness, how she kept coughing and moaning quietly.     

Jack knew it, too. Will could say it was the reason why he still hadn’t forced himself to go inside and check on her, comfort her, make sure she’s holding on.

She was dying, and Jack was too smart not to realize it. Even though he pretended to still have hope.

“Lecter knows how to heal people,” Jack said weakly, and Will made another step to him.

“He does,” he agreed. “But he’s not a magician. There are no herbs in this forest that could ease such a severe damage. Do you see it?” Will pointed at his wounded cheek. “It’s just a scratch in comparison to your wife’s condition. And all Hannibal could do was stop the bleeding. Do you really believe there are miraculous herbs in this forest that could deal with burns of that degree?”

Jack closed his eyes briefly.

“So what did you mean when you told me that you could help?” he asked.

“I can help you both go peacefully. Painlessly.”

Jack stared at him with such incredulity that Will would have laughed in any other situation.

“You can help us go?” he repeated. “Meaning you can help us die? Like you did with your Broken ones?”

“Yes,” Will looked at him calmly, even though he ached to glance at Hannibal and Bedelia instead.

“Do you honestly believe I’ll let you kill my wife? And myself? Do I look suicidal to you?”

“Your wife is already dying in the worst way possible,” Will cut him off. “Are you ready to kill her yourself? And you. You are a strong tribute who has all chances of winning. Will you live as a winner, Jack? With all that money? Phyllis would want you to. She would want you to live and enjoy life. But would you?”

Jack turned away from him, staring at his wife silently, and in that moment, Bedelia’s scream sounded.

Will whirled around and froze, feeling terrified and thrilled simultaneously.

Bedelia was pinned under Hannibal on the ground, jerking desperately and trying to push him off. Hannibal’s teeth were at her throat, ripping their way inside, tearing through skin, flesh, and blood. It looked beautiful — in a morbid, animalistic way, and Will stood there watching for some time, unable to glance away. Bedelia grabbed Hannibal by the hair, trying to pull him from her neck, but even though it must have hurt, he didn’t react at all. His hands were clenching her shoulders in a steely, vise-like grip, and he kept biting through her throat, ignoring her weakening cries and gasps.

“He is a monster,” Jack whispered. When Will looked at him, he was taken aback by the tears he saw in his eyes.

With Jack’s imposing and aggressive personality, it was easy to forget that he himself was not much older than Will — seventeen, maybe almost eighteen. Seeing Hannibal tear Bedelia apart clearly repulsed him, but he still couldn’t force himself to look away.

He was scared. Lost. Desperate.

It wasn’t going to take much to persuade him.

“You have a tranquillizer,” Will murmured softly. “Use it on your wife, and on yourself, if you want. I promise that when you wake up, you’ll be in a better place.”

“I will never believe you,” Jack shook his head. “Just look at him. He doesn’t know what mercy is — if I took you up on your offer, if I afforded myself this moment of weakness, I would pay dearly, because he will change your mind. He will prolong Bella’s sufferings and he will make me watch.”

“Bella?” Will asked.

“Phyllis,” Jack finally looked at him. “She is the most beautiful human being I have ever met. She is… everything. Do you understand? Everything.”

“I promise you,” Will repeated. “If you make this choice, you’ll both go painlessly. I’ll make sure of it and Hannibal won’t change my mind. But whatever you choose for yourself, at least take care of _her_. Because every second she spends alive must be agony. Surely you understand it.”

Jack sent him an inscrutable gaze. It seemed to last forever, and then he suddenly turned away and disappeared in the cave.

Will looked back at Hannibal and Bedelia. Whatever Jack decided now didn’t matter — he was no longer an enemy. He had no interest in victory now and no personal reasons to take revenge on him and Hannibal. If anything, Will could bet that Jack would want one of them to win instead of Francis Dolarhyde, who had basically killed Phyllis. Bella.

Will didn’t know much about physical fights, but he could easily recognize the person who had lost everything.

Jack wasn’t going to keep fighting… though whether or not he was prepared to die willingly remained a question.

 The gunshot sounded, and Will let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. Hannibal slowly raised his head, and when he looked at Will, there was only blackness in his eyes. Empty, cold blackness, a void with no feelings, no emotions, nothing alive. The blood on his face enhanced the chilling image, and Will swallowed, wondering if this creature could really feel something akin to love.

Hannibal stood up and started to approach him in a strange, threatening gait, making Will feel as if he was being stalked by a predator. He swallowed, refusing to look away, and when Hannibal stopped just inches from him, his heart skipped a beat.

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting. He was equally prepared for a kiss and for a killing blow, because when Hannibal was like that, Will couldn’t read him. So he watched, instead, tense and waiting.

Hannibal’s fingers ghosted against his cheek, tender and careful, and then he did kiss him, letting him taste Bedelia’s blood. Will shivered, unsure if he was repulsed or aroused, and then all thoughts left his mind, leaving only sensations behind. Hannibal was so warm and familiar, and his lips were salty and sweet at once, caressing him and letting him caress them in return.

An unconscious, needy sound escaped his chest, and Will stepped closer, mindlessly raising his hands in attempt to wrap them around Hannibal’s shoulders. The sharp pain that pierced him made him cry out and stumble. His broken arm started screaming in protest, and Will cursed under his breath, closing his eyes and willing the pain to dissipate.

“Let me look,” Hannibal said abruptly. The darkness was still glistening in his eyes, so Will shook his head.

“There is nothing you could do anyway,” he said. “It’s broken. I just don’t know if it’s supposed to hurt this much. What was that weapon?”

Hannibal glanced at the fallen torture tool briefly, and hatred that flashed across his face made Will frown.

“I don’t care,” Hannibal said lowly. “I thought…”

He didn’t finish, and even though Will was curious, he decided against asking.

  “We still have a problem,” he said. Hannibal tensed even more and slowly turned to the cave. Then he moved toward it, and Will hastened to follow, wondering what they would find.

Up close, Phyllis looked even worse than Will had thought. She was disfigured, her skin marred with burns, and despite being unconscious, her twisted facial movements reflected the agony that she must have been feeling.

Jack was wrapped around her without touching her, so not to increase her pain. He was sleeping, and the tranquilizer was still clenched in his hand.

For a moment, Will felt just sadness, but then the feeling of triumph engulfed him.

Jack had taken his advice. Jack had allowed himself to be weak and decided to trust him despite everything. Enemy or not, he didn’t pose a threat any longer.

“What is this?” Hannibal asked stonily. 

Will told him, and Hannibal’s lips curled in a derisive sneer.

“Quite smart of you,” he praised coldly. “I didn’t expect Jack to be such a fool and buy into it, though.”

“Buy into what?” Will frowned. “What do you mean?”

“We will wait until they wake up. Then we will see how long it will take them to die.” Hannibal turned away, and Will stared at his back in shock.

Was he serious? Did he honestly want to torture the girl who had already been through so much out of some petty revenge?

Apparently, yes.

Coldness seeped into his bones, and Will straightened. 

“No,” he said evenly.

Slowly, Hannibal turned back to him.

“No?” he repeated.

“We won’t wait for them to wake up. We will kill them, just like I promised Jack, and we will leave them in peace.”

“You are out of your mind if you truly think I will accept it,” Hannibal uttered flatly. “This person,” he nodded at Jack, “intended for you to die at that tree. He deliberately misled me and dragged me into the plan that wasn’t even thought out well. And you’re willing to let him die peacefully?”

“Yes,” Will said simply. When Hannibal just stared at him, he sighed.

“I don’t understand you sometimes,” he admitted. “I don’t understand where your anger comes from. I understand it with Bedelia, but with Jack? He didn’t really want to harm us. He was desperate, he believed he had no choice. Look at his wife,” Will gestured at Phyllis. “Would you have acted differently in his place?”

“Yes,” Hannibal said, his voice icy. “I wouldn’t have relied on anyone but myself. I would have managed to take care of you without involving others, especially knowing how dangerous it could be.”

Will was silent for a moment, thinking that Hannibal had just elevated him to the status of a spouse. A small smile touched his lips, but it dissipated as soon as he looked at Phyllis.

“People are different,” he said. “I hope you, with your mind, can understand Jack’s motivation. He wasn’t really our enemy — if anything, it’s Bedelia who probably manipulated Jack into thinking you could save his wife. And she already got what she deserved.”

“You won’t persuade me,” Hannibal warned, and Will felt his eyes narrow.

“I made a promise,” he said. “I intend to keep it. I receive no pleasure out of tormenting people who have already suffered and who trusted me against all odds. We still have Dolarhyde to deal with — what, will you fight me to get what you want? Will you forcibly make me an observer?”

“Of course no!” Hannibal growled. “But this is foolishness, Will, they do not deserve your sympathy!”

“I need to keep my promise,” Will lowered his voice, sending Hannibal a look that he hoped was appeasing. “Can you let me do it? Please. It is important to me.”

Hannibal glanced at his limp, broken arm and snarled.

“Fine,” he spat. “But do it yourself, I want no part in it.”

Hannibal stormed out and Will rolled his eyes, not knowing if he should be angry or amused. In the end, he allowed himself a small smile, but it faded once again when he remembered what he had to do.

How would it be better to kill them? Hannibal definitely wasn’t going to share the least painful way of doing it with him, so he had to figure it out by himself.

Suffocating seemed too intimate and not appropriate for a situation like this. The knife, then? Not the cleanest way, but probably the fastest.

Will went back for the discarded backpacks and took his knife out of it. Hannibal sent him a dark look, but didn’t say anything.

At the cave, Will glanced at Jack and Phyllis, mesmerizing their features out of some strange need to remember them. The Game was coming to an end, but even knowing that soon he wouldn’t have any memories left didn’t stop him from looking.

He needed it. He didn’t know why.

Finally, Will pressed the knife to Phyllis’ throat and cut it awkwardly, with one hand, wincing when a strange, gurgling sound escaped her chest. He would have held her by the hair to provide himself with better access, but it was physically impossible at the moment, and Hannibal would only make things worse.

The gunshot filled the sudden silence. Will watched how Phyllis’ body relaxed, as if relieved due to the final reprieve from pain. Closing his eyes for a moment, he moved to Jack and hesitated.

Killing Phyllis was an act of mercy. Killing Jack, a healthy, strong opponent, in his sleep…

Of course, he had been the one to choose it. He could have chosen to live, or to kill himself without relying on anyone, but Will was aware of the manipulation they had both engaged in. A good person, perhaps, wouldn’t have pushed an already traumatized man further into the depth of his grief.

Well. Will didn’t consider himself a good person. And Jack _had_ intended to get rid of both him and Hannibal.

Other options didn’t exist.

Making a decision, Will cut Jack’s throat, and then watched dispassionately how he bled out, waiting for the sound of gunshot. When it tore through the silence, he stood up and left the cave, without looking back.

Hannibal refused to even glance at him, but he moved to give him space nearby. They sat in silence for a long time, both lost in thoughts. Finally Will asked, “Should we go after Francis today?”

“No,” Hannibal replied after a brief pause. He looked at Will’s broken hand before glancing away again. “This day will belong to us. Tomorrow in the morning I’ll go after him, and you’ll stay here.”

“What? No!”

“Why do you always argue?” Hannibal hissed, turning to him and sending him a glare. “Do you even understand how severe your injuries are? That thing,” he jerked his head toward Bedelia’s weapon that was still lying on the grass, abandoned, “does irreparable damage. I have seen it before. It’ll be a miracle if you ever manage to move your arm properly — and you intend to fight Dolarhyde? It’s impossible.”

“I still have another functioning arm,” Will reminded him. “Which is better than nothing. I can still help you. We don’t know what kind of weapon Francis has — if he managed to almost burn Phyllis alive, then he is armed.”

“You will be distracting me,” Hannibal’s words were harsh, but his voice had actually softened and turned almost imploring. “I won’t be able to concentrate if you are with me. Do you understand me? I will want to protect you—”

“I can protect myself.”

“Not with a broken arm. Not with someone like Francis Dolarhyde. You will be in danger.”

“I will be in danger if I remain here as well. We don’t even know where Francis is — he may be watching us now.”

“I doubt it,” Hannibal said, but his body tensed and he carefully looked around. “I think he is like Randall Tier in this regard. Most likely, he has chosen a place for himself and he is waiting for his victims there. I remember where his name was at the sky, and I believe he is still there.”

“But you can’t know for sure. Come on,” Will nudged Hannibal playfully, feeling an absurd desire to kiss his frown away. “We’re partners in this. Separating is a bad idea, I think you won’t deny it after everything that happened. Every time we separate, something bad happens. So we’ll go together.”

“I will think about it,” Hannibal said, obviously displeased, and Will smiled, moving to lay his head on Hannibal’s knees. Warmth enveloped him, and Hannibal immediately focused on his hair, starting his slow caresses.

“I acted irrationally,” he said quietly, after almost an hour of silence.

“Mmm?” Will blinked at him sleepily. Hannibal’s face was thoughtful and grave.

“I shouldn’t have trusted Jack’s words. They made very little sense, and I still bought into them. I should have started looking for you myself, at once.”

“It ended in a good way for us,” Will noted. “Bedelia is dead. Just like Jack and Phyllis. We have only Francis to deal with — we are one step away from victory.”

“Your arm worries me,” Hannibal admitted reluctantly, and Will looked at him in surprise. “I’m not sure the bones will heal properly, and it will cause you a lot of pain in the future. That device was created in my District, and its only aim is to torture.”

“The pain was intense,” Will agreed, flinching as memories assaulted him. “More intense than I could have imagined. But it doesn’t hurt as much now.”

“It will,” Hannibal said darkly.

 

The night passed in tense silence. Hannibal refused to sleep, and Will’s arm began to burn somewhere after midnight, after the phantoms. He didn’t want to tell Hannibal, but it was impossible to sleep, so they both spent the night awake and miserable.

Will wondered what exactly was bothering Hannibal most, what had caused this kind of dark mood. There were many plausible reasons, but whichever tormented Hannibal, he was clearly not ready to talk about it.

Will didn’t press.

They had much more important matters to attend.

“We will rely on Jack’s tranquilizer,” Hannibal said in the morning. “It would be the most effective way of dealing with Dolarhyde. Knives are our second option. Can you throw one with your hand?”

“Sure,” Will said amicably. He doubted his ability to aim accurately, but he had a feeling that it wouldn’t be their biggest problem.

Hannibal nodded, but he still looked worried. Checking everything they had, he took a deep breath and said, “Let’s go, then. Our dinner is waiting.”

Will snorted, but said nothing. Maybe their dinner was indeed waiting for them.

Or maybe they were going to become a meal for Francis.

No matter how unknown their situation was and how tense Hannibal was acting, Will had a strange, calm feeling of certainty. One way or another, things would end today. If he lost Hannibal, he wouldn’t have time to grieve. If they killed Francis, then they would get more precious hours together before he would have to kill himself — or force Hannibal to do it. Any way, they were going to face the end together, with no lies or secrets between them, and it was more than Will could have hoped for.

Too busy with his thoughts, he didn’t keep track of where they were going. When Hannibal started to slow down, he slowed as well, clenching the knife in his hand tighter.

“Are we here?” he asked quietly.

“I think so,” Hannibal replied, sending a glance toward the sky and narrowing his eyes, as if trying to make sure his calculations were valid. “Do you feel this smell?”

Will frowned and took a deep breath. Now that Hannibal had mentioned it, he did notice a strange note in the air. It was somehow familiar and tasted of his District — maybe of the production centre?

They walked for several more minutes, and for some reason, it felt to Will as if the entire forest had gotten darker. Ridiculous — it was still morning, yet his imagination kept insisting, painting everything he was seeing in darker shades, in accordance with the growing, unpleasant smell.

So, so familiar. Why couldn’t he recognize it?

Hannibal stopped suddenly, staring at his feet in bewilderment. Will followed his gaze and saw a strange, fragile looking construction there. He had no idea what it was, but the sudden terror that crashed into him made him immediately react. He pushed Hannibal with as much strength as he could master and had managed to make two steps away himself when the explosion shook the ground, sending him backward.

All sounds disappeared for a while. When they returned to him, they were muted, and Will gritted his teeth, telling himself to get up.

If the explosion had happened, then Francis was near. They were under attack, and deaf or not, Will had to get up.

He moved, raising his head with difficulty and trying to see Hannibal. Instead, he saw Francis — dressed in red? Painted? Wounded? The image was blurry, but he was definitely going somewhere, and his determined walk meant that he had a clear target — Hannibal.

Fighting pain and dizziness, Will reached for his knife. It wasn’t anywhere he could see, so he grabbed his backpack, unzipped it, and took the spare one — the only one he had left.

When he looked up again, he saw the fight. Hannibal was already on his feet, and even though half of this face was covered with blood, he seemed more or less steady. The tranquilizer was not in his hand — he must have dropped it just like Will had lost his knife.

Francis was terrifying. Will remembered seeing him at the training centre, the way he had kept relentlessly fighting Marissa, again and again, as if his life depended on it.

The time spent on the arena did nothing to lessen his strength. His attack was vicious, every blow aimed at Hannibal was so powerful that Will had no doubt it could break bones.

This was nothing like the fluid dance with Bedelia. This fight was brutal, and just as deadly. Under any other circumstances, Hannibal would have probably managed to best Francis, but the explosion had left him dizzy. More and more, he started to defend himself instead of attacking, and Will jumped to his feet, wondering if he should intervene this time. He had the knife, but with one hand, he suddenly felt clumsy and useless, just like Hannibal had warned him he would be.

Still unsure but knowing that he wasn’t going to stand motionlessly till the end, Will crept up to them, not taking his eyes off Francis. He was indeed all covered with some thick, red, smelly substance, and whenever Hannibal tried to grab him, his hands slipped.

Francis punched him in the stomach, and as Hannibal silently doubled over, he pushed him hard against one of the trees. Suddenly, it was engulfed by fire, bright and scorching, coming seemingly from nowhere. Hannibal moved before another blow could send him straight into the depth of the flames. When Francis growled in fury, he attacked, but before Will could admire how he had essentially turned his entire body into the weapon, Francis managed to intercept the blow and squeezed both of Hannibal’s hands. For a moment, they struggled, and then Hannibal was forced to make a step back. Francis kept pushing, and in less than a second, he pressed one of Hannibal’s hands right against the burning tree.

A stifled cry of pain tore from Hannibal’s chest, and Will broke into action. Jumping to Francis, he plunged the knife into his back, knowing instantly that it wouldn’t kill him, but at least would distract him from Hannibal.

As he’d expected, Francis let out a pained roar and turned to him, his eyes blazing crazily. With the knife still stuck in his back, he grabbed Will by the throat and threw him against another tree. His hands kept squeezing, and Will croaked, “Don’t kill him. I want to do it myself.”

Francis’s grip loosened slightly in confusion, and Will rushed to add, “I brought him to you because I needed your help. He deserves to die. For Reba.”

“What?” even despite the redness that enveloped Francis, Will could see him pale. His voice sounded strange, as if he hadn’t been using it for a very long time, and once again it reminded Will of Randall.

“What,” Francis repeated again, and this time it didn’t even sound like a question. “What did you say.”

“He killed Reba,” Will whispered. This close, Francis looked like some mythical, ethereal creature, and the redness that covered his skin was so bright, it was almost painful to look at him. “There was nothing I could do to stop him, it was too late by then. But I wanted to make him pay. So I brought him to you. I hoped you would help me, Reba spoke so much about you.” 

“Did she?” Francis asked, and this time, there were a raw need and hunger in his voice. “What did she say?”

Thinking about Reba hurt, but Will tried to remember everything he could about those several interactions he had witnessed between her and Francis.

She had smiled at him. He had actually talked to her and tried to smile back.

That was it. That was all he could think of.

Still, it had to be enough. Behind Francis, Will could see Hannibal rising, and even though he had no weapon, there was one stuck in Francis’ back.

If only Will could distract him for long enough.

“She said that she never met anyone like you,” he murmured quietly, and Francis gasped, as if the mere thought both delighted and pained him. “You were special, and she regretted not meeting you before the Games.”

“How did she die?” Francis’ whisper was hoarse. “Did she suffer?”

“No,” Will answered truthfully. Hannibal moved silently, as quick as death itself, and in a blink, he was already standing behind Francis.

Will could allow himself a moment of honesty.

“I think she really liked you,” he admitted. “She saw that you were unique, and she enjoyed it. If not for the Games, I believe you could have built something together. If the circumstances had been different.”

Some real emotion passed over Francis’ face, and then Hannibal viciously ripped the knife out of his back only to plunge it back in, higher than the wound Will had inflicted.

Francis let out a startled, short groan, and slowly fell on the ground. His eyes didn’t leave Will’s face — it was like Hannibal didn’t even exist to him anymore. He coughed with blood, and asked, “What else… did she… say? About me?”

“She was sorry you weren’t from our District,” Will replied. There was no need to keep lying any longer, but the look Francis was giving him was crazed, full of desperate longing. “She wished she could have known you better.”

“She talked… about you,” Francis murmured. “I remember. Yes. I remember you. She wanted you to win.”

Will smiled at him softly. Crouching near him, he touched his hair and admitted, “If I died, I’m sure she would have been rooting for you.”

A small, blissful smile illuminated Francis’ face. Then he froze, still wearing a smiling mask, with accompanying gunshot.

“Let me see your hand,” Will reached for Hannibal’s arm and frowned, seeing the ugly burns on it. “Damn it,” he breathed out. “Can we lessen the pain somehow?”

“It doesn’t hurt that much,” Hannibal assured him, staring at him in a way that still managed to make Will blush.

“We’re both useless now,” he said, and glanced warily at the tree that was still burning. Weirdly, the fire didn’t spread anywhere else, but Will had no desire to keep standing next to it. “Let’s go,” he added, “as far away from here as possible.”   

“We still have our dinner to take care of,” Hannibal reminded him, nodding at Francis sharply. “Don’t tell me you feel sorry for him.”

“No, I don’t. Not really,” Will shook his head. “But what can we do about him? With our hands like this?”

“We both have a remaining, perfectly functioning hand,” Hannibal replied loftily. “You will use yours and I will use mine. We will act as one living entity now. You’ll see — it will only make us more effective.”

“You’re an optimist,” Will concluded. “I should have seen it sooner, when you were so sure you would win the Games even before they started.”

“And I did,” Hannibal grinned. “We both did.”

“No one is going to let us both live. As you can see, no one’s rushing to announce the end, because for the viewers, the most interesting thing is still to happen.”

“Sure it is,” Hannibal agreed. “The celebratory dinner you and I are going to have tonight.”

Will couldn’t help but smile, even though his heart twitched in distress. Whether Hannibal wanted to accept it or not, they have limited time until the Gamekeepers decided to spice things up and to force one of them to die. But maybe, maybe they could have this day.

And even their celebratory dinner.  

 

 

***

 

 

They found another small lake near Jack and Phyllis’ cave. Hannibal was washing the parts of Francis’ body they had taken with one hand, calmly and efficiently, as if he’d been doing it for years, while Will sat and watched him, feeling a warm, lovely affection blooming inside. His face, hand, and shoulder kept hurting, but he barely noticed the pain now.

There were only two of them left. Two, among twenty four other tributes. It was not what Will had been imagining when his name had been chosen at the Ceremony, but now he could say with certainty that he had no regrets. Things happened, and in the end, he’d obtained something very valuable.

“You are quiet,” Hannibal noticed.

“Just content,” Will answered. “It’s so peaceful here now, when I know no one will come out from somewhere and attack us.”

“What would you like to do? We could go back to our little place and break the camp there.”

They definitely had to have a conversation, it was getting ridiculous. Taking a deep breath, Will said, “No.” 

“Why?” Hannibal acted oblivious. “You were happy there.”

“I can be happy anywhere, it’s not a problem. The problem is that the Gamekeepers will get tired of waiting soon. Tonight is ours, but tomorrow? Tomorrow we will have to make a decision.”

“Nonsense,” Hannibal got back to working on the meat.

Well.

Not right now, then.

 

They spent the rest of the day in comfortable but mostly silent closeness. Their wounds didn’t give them strength to do anything but cuddle up together and exchange brief, heartfelt kisses every now and then. The meat was delicious, and Will didn’t even need to try to avoid thinking about what Reba would have said. Nothing mattered much in these moments. Nothing but Hannibal, who was trying to act as if everything was perfectly fine and that tomorrow wouldn’t break them apart for good.

The darkness had always made feelings stronger. Lying in Hannibal’s half-embrace and hugging him with his hand in return, Will said, “We’re going to have this talk, you know.” 

Immediately, Hannibal’s grip on him tightened.

“There is really nothing to talk about,” he said shortly. “I am not going to kill you.”

“Okay. How do you see the end of it all, then? What do we do?”

“We live on the arena. People might be interested in us enough to leave us alone.”

“For a day or two, maybe. Not forever. The Game needs a winner, Hannibal, you know it. They will kick us out sooner or later. They will come up with more challenges and accidents, and one of us will die.”

“Do you think I don’t know it?” Hannibal hissed, pressing him even closer to his body. “I am not an idiot, Will, I’m aware of the rules. But I will never be able to do what you hope for. The last events have demonstrated it fully. Seeing you hurt is… unbearable. Inflicting wounds upon you? Killing you? Impossible.”

“So you think I should kill you, and become the winner?” Will whispered. He was angry, but despair and hopelessness were underlying his anger. “I don’t even want a victory. Stop trying to push it on me.”

“We are at an impasse, then. Because I won’t hurt you.”

Will could cry from both frustration and gratitude. Instead, he wrapped himself tighter in Hannibal’s embrace and asked, “What did you and Bedelia talk about?”

“Nothing really worth mentioning. She accused me of betraying her — which is absurd, since I never promised her anything.”

“She liked you in some way. I think.”

Hannibal snorted.

“Maybe,” he allowed. “But the fact that we both shared the same District didn’t automatically mean we would be allies. She was a fool to trust this notion. And even more of a fool to forfeit her life in an attempt to pay me back for the assumed betrayal. She could have survived for longer if she had left you and I alone. She let her feelings control her actions instead of logic, and in the end, it destroyed her.”

“Look who’s talking,” Will laughed. “You’re making the same mistake as Bedelia did. You’re letting your emotions affect the decision that should be made with the help on logic.”

“Yes,” Hannibal agreed easily, indulgently, “but Bedelia was ruled by the petty desire for revenge. My actions are dictated by love.”

Will froze, unsure if he’d heard right. When none clarification came, he blushed and fidgeted, wondering if he should say anything in reply. Finally, he said, “Your foolishness is reciprocated,” and then almost groaned out loud.

How deeply embarrassing it all was. He’d never been more mortified in his life.

Hannibal sighed, with the expression that was very soft and vulnerable. Then he nuzzled Will’s hair and lowered his head on Will’s shoulder.

They spent the rest of the night this way, a little uncomfortable, but inseparable.

Just like Will wanted.

 

When they woke up in the morning, the lake was gone.

Hannibal’s tightened lips meant he understood very well what it meant. Will did, too.

The Gamekeepers had clearly started nudging them in the direction they wanted.

“We have enough water,” Hannibal remarked. “It will last for a few days. Until then, we’ll be following our initial plan of reaching the end of the arena. I still want to know what’s there.”

“Fine,” Will said. There was no point in arguing. He didn’t have any delusions, but he also wasn’t going to keep pushing Hannibal about it any more.

Maybe sometimes, it was better to just let the fate make a decision.

“You always surprise me,” Hannibal said at some point. They kept talking about everything and nothing, and lightness in Hannibal’s voice had eventually made Will relax and actually start to enjoy their weird plan.

“Any particular examples?” he asked.

“The way you dealt with Dolarhyde. And with Jack, too.”

“You also know how to use conversations to affect people,” Will said. “You’ve done it before.”

“Not like you. I use conversations as a tool for manipulation — you used yours as a weapon.”

“What else could I do with one hand?”

Hannibal let out a genuine laugh, and then suddenly pulled Will to him with his burns-free hand and kissed him in earnest. Will hissed from pain as his wounded cheek throbbed in protest, but then Hannibal’s tongue boldly slipped between his lips, tasting and marking, and the pain temporarily receded.

They probably looked ridiculous and awkward, with their undamaged hands wrapped around each other and their hurt ones just hanging useless, but Will was too far gone to really care.

This. This was one of the moments he wanted to keep living for, as long as he could. These rare moments of freedom and untainted happiness.

Nothing else mattered at this point.

 

 

***

 

 

It had taken them one more night to reach Randall’s place, and another one to approach the end of the arena. Hannibal was mostly silent by then, knowing that no matter how much he tried to delay the moment, it would still come.

The lakes they had encountered were all empty, the berries they found were all shriveled and dead, and there was little of Francis’ meat left. The Gamekeepers were somewhat patient for now, probably interested in seeing what the point of Hannibal’s ‘reach the end of the arena’ plan was, but their patience was getting shorter with each passing hour. That much was obvious. And Will would rather die from Hannibal’s hands than because of some artificially created monsters or another deadly fire.

The area they now entered was not like all other parts they had seen. It was mostly bare, with no trees or grass, and the ground resembled gray nothingness, untouched by clever and elaborate design of the arena. Even the sky looked different — paler, but somehow more real. This was the sky Will recognized from home, from the hours spent in his forest.

They were standing at the edge of two worlds, and the difference was striking. During all time spent at the arena, Will had almost forgotten what the real world looked like.

The final edge between these two places was visible in two colors of the sky, and in the fact that they were currently standing on something resembling a cliff, with rough, uneven outlines. As if a child had grown bored with the picture and stopped drawing it.

Will admired the view, but he didn’t understand the intense interest that flashed across Hannibal’s face. Suddenly determined and intrigued, Hannibal walked closer to the edge and stared at something behind it.

“Will,” he said lowly, reverently. “Come here.”

Curious, Will obeyed, and as he had walked closer, his breath caught at the sight of the vast, dark, roiling ocean right beneath them.

“So it _is_ the ocean,” he murmured, awed. “It looks so… beautiful.”

“It’s not a part of the arena,” Hannibal glanced back, then stared at the water again. Will stared, too, feeling the thoughts in his head begin to whirl.

Hannibal didn’t need to say anything aloud for him to understand.

The ocean. The end of the arena. The place that the Gamekeepers couldn’t control. 

Had Hannibal planned it from the beginning?

No. His distress had seemed genuine before — he couldn’t have known about the ocean for sure, not even after they had encountered salt lakes. Their water was probably coming from this ocean — but how, if it existed outside of the arena?

It didn’t matter. They couldn’t discuss anything when everyone could hear them, so they’d have to rely on their mutual understanding of each other.

“That’s it,” Will said softly. “We have nowhere else to go.”

“True,” Hannibal agreed.

“Should we spend the rest of this day together? Just this day. And night. And then, tomorrow… we will end it.”

A ghost of a smile touched Hannibal’s lips. His eyes were unnaturally dark when he said, “We will,” and the last of Will’s doubts evaporated.

For the first time, a small, tentative hope of permanence raised its head, and he could think of nothing that would diminish its glow now.

 

 

***

          

They made a fire not far from the cliff and slowly ate the rest of the meat. Will longed to see the ocean again, but he didn’t want to attract attention. Now that the Gamekeepers had heard their promise, they would leave them alone until tomorrow, letting them decide for themselves who would become the winner.

And maybe, just maybe, both of them would win.

The idea kept filling Will with excitement and adrenaline, but he knew that rushing now could be deadly. They had to be patient.

Around midnight, Hannibal threw more wood into the fire. As it began to crackle, he pulled Will closer to him, nuzzling his cheek. Will raised his eyebrows but wrapped one hand around his shoulders, and that was when he felt Hannibal’s lips press to his ear, whispering, “We jump in several hours. When it’s still dark.”

“You don’t know how to swim,” Will breathed out, pretending to shower Hannibal’s face with kisses. “You never even saw a river before the arena.”

“I’ll manage,” Hannibal replied, and though his voice was barely audible, Will still felt his confidence. “Then we run. Together.”

Their chances of actually running after falling from such height, with their injuries, were laughable, but Will said nothing. Dying together in an attempt to escape was a much better plan than staying here and waiting until some artificial monsters would kill one of them, or even them both.

Still, he clung to Hannibal, trying to imagine what could be waiting for them beyond the arena. He had never allowed himself to think about it before, since it had never seemed possible, but now… now they had a chance — a small and fragile, but still real.

A life without any rules. A life where no one could find them.

Even if they managed to reach the beach, where would they go? Would the path lead them to some unknown, virgin forests, or to the centre of the capital where they would be immediately imprisoned, or killed?

Will didn’t know. But he wondered.

The more time passed, the more anxious he was becoming. Finally, Hannibal stood up and grabbed his backpack, nodding at Will to do the same.  

“I don’t like this place,” he said out loud. “Let’s choose another one for the night.”

“Sure,” Will answered lightly, hoping his excitement wasn’t too palpable.

They walked to the cliff. The water wasn’t even visible now, blending with darkness, but Will knew it was there — he could hear it, smell it, feel it.

_Their_ water. Their ticket to freedom.      

Hannibal stared at him, as if mesmerizing his features, and Will caressed his face before placing a soft kiss on his lips.

“Let’s do it,” he whispered.

“I’ll see you there,” Hannibal replied.

Something was happening behind them. The arena began to flicker, with the light changing, the trees and the forest melting into an unrecognizable mass.

Will ignored it.

‘ _One, two, three,_ ’ he thought.

And jumped.

 


	12. Living

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. I'd like to thank every reader for the constant support - you can't imagine how much it means to me. I'm so delighted to see such a positive response to this story, and I hope we'll meet again :)

_Epilogue_

Whenever Will looked back at the end of the Games, his heart froze in his chest, and adrenaline started to course through his veins in a terrified frenzy. Even now, three years later, the implications of what had been about to happen made him shiver, made the primitive fear return.

They had been so close.

_They were literally at the end of the world, watching it fall apart, hoping for a new beginning with no real hope, no real chance to succeed._

_Will didn’t remember the landing. But he did remember the fall — endlessly, impossibly long, terrifying, but still giving him a feeling of fragile optimism that he hadn’t thought himself capable of._

_He thought about Hannibal. He thought about their possible life together. It seemed that hundreds and thousands of images had flashed before him before the sharp pain engulfed him, and then for a while, there was nothing. He came to his senses when he heard Hannibal’s voice, low and calm, as if nothing important was happening, “Breathe. Look me and breathe. Breathe.”_

_Breathing hurt. Opening his eyes hurt, but Will still did it. He was surrounded by hissy, angry water, and only Hannibal’s unnaturally pale face was visible in all the darkness._

_“Stay with me,” he said, and Will smiled mindlessly. He was somehow holding himself afloat, even though every movement was excruciating._

_“Hey,” he muttered. “You’re alive.”_

_“Of course I am,” Hannibal smiled at him, and for a moment, everything was fine._

_Then he disappeared under the water, abruptly, so fast that Will had almost missed it._

_“Hannibal?” he asked, bewildered._

_There was no answer, and just as abruptly, Will’s mind returned to him, sharper than ever before._

_“HANNIBAL!” he screamed. He lunged after him, right under the gloomy surface, knowing that his time was limited, hearing frantic counting in his mind. The voices in his head belonged to himself, to his father, to Reba, and to every other person he had ever met. Some were reassuring, some were mocking, but none of them belonged to Hannibal._

_Hannibal_ _._

_It was sheer luck that made Will blindly stumble across the heavy, familiar body. He squeezed it as hard as he could and tried to drag it upward, pushing against the water with his legs. His broken hand was useless, he saw only blackness ahead, and Hannibal felt like he weighted a ton, but… but…_

_The surface appeared as suddenly as Hannibal had disappeared under it. Will took a greedy breath, coughed when a wave crashed into his face, and shook Hannibal insistently._

_“Wake up,” he whispered. “Please, please wake up. I can’t do it alone, we’re going to fucking drown here. Hannibal. Hannibal!”_

_At some point, everything around him darkened again, and when Will opened his eyes, he was still in the water, but the place felt new. Hannibal was with him, so weak that he was unable to talk, yet he was conscious, and he stubbornly fought to remain afloat._

It had been a nightmare, and it was difficult to recreate its details. The only thing Will remembered clearly was the constant fear raging within him, fear that he would look up and Hannibal would be gone, this time for good.

_“The backpacks,” he mumbled. “We have to… get rid of them. The weight.”_

_Hannibal shook his head, and when Will frowned uncomprehendingly, he croaked, “Water. Salt.”_

Back then, Will had no idea what it meant, and only later, he realized that Hannibal had been worried about what they were going to drink if they survived. Despite the disastrous situation, Hannibal had still tried to plan their future, being the forever-incorrigible optimist he was.

_Somehow, somewhere, they reached the land, but it didn’t mean absolutely anything. Will knew they were going to die from their wounds, or that they would be found at any moment. He thought he heard the shouting, but there was no time to understand what was reality and what came from his imagination, so he kept pushing one foot in front of the other, clenching Hannibal’s unhurt hand in his own._

_The trees. The forest. The night that had slowly turned into morning._

_They were walking for days. Sometimes they stopped, too weak to go on. Sometimes Hannibal tried to make him drink the water, or Will tried to feed him the berries they kept finding. Luckily, there were much more eatable things in this real forest, and Will didn’t have to wonder if they were going to be poisoned._

_They were walking, and sometimes it looked like they would never stop. And then—_

Hannibal caught. Hannibal thrown to prison, tortured and punished every day, screaming until he couldn’t, losing his voice entirely— 

Strong hands wrapped around Will’s shoulders, and familiar lips pressed a careful kiss against his neck.

“You’re wandering again,” Hannibal murmured. “Don’t go. Not today, not to where I can’t follow you.”

Pulling himself out from the onslaught of thoughts, Will sighed and leaned against Hannibal, watching the silvery river in front of them.

“There is no place where you wouldn’t follow me,” he said.

“True,” Hannibal’s grip tightened around him for a moment. “But you promised me not to think about the past any longer. You are too easily lost in your imagination. You keep scaring yourself with all things that never happened.”

“Some of them did happen.”

“We won the Games. We jumped. We survived and we ran away. That’s all you have to focus on, that’s all that truly happened. Don’t torture yourself with imaginary scenarios, you know it is pointless, and it only upsets both you and me.”

The remains of gloomy thoughts melted, and Will turned to Hannibal, staring at him in open admiration.

He might have felt uncomfortable with himself, with this openness that was completely uncharacteristic of him, if an equally adoring gaze wasn’t directed at him as well.

“It is dangerous to be constantly happy,” he said. “I have a chance to relive the worst while knowing that it never really happened. There is some comfort in it.”

“There is no comfort in it,” Hannibal interrupted him sharply. “And there is nothing wrong with being happy. We spent three amazing years together, and we will have many more. No one will find us. We are at the end of the very world, remember?”

“Our world,” Will drawled, and Hannibal shrugged.

“As far as I’m concerned, it is the only world that exists,” he said, and when Will opened his mouth to argue, a demanding kiss was bestowed on his lips.

Well.

It did work.   

He answered the kiss, burying his hands in Hannibal’s hair. For a while, he stopped noticing the forest around them, enjoying the familiarity of the bliss that came with kissing. When Hannibal tried to back him against the tree, Will pulled at his hair sharply, sadistically reveling in his pained hiss.

_Their_ _endless walking started to slow down weeks after their jump, when they realized that no one was chasing them — at least not anymore. Their wounds were already healing at that point, with Hannibal constantly doing magic with the leaves and flowers they kept encountering._

_Will felt better. He still tried to avoid thinking too much, because the fear was hidden just below the surface of his outward calmness, but his strength was returning, and the agony in his broken arm was starting to subside._       

_Walking, walking, and more walking, and then—_

_The house. Very old, but surprisingly refined and spacious._

_“It’s a trap,” Will said immediately._

_“It’s not,” Hannibal shook his head, his eyes narrowed._

_“What, you think we have accidentally stumbled upon a house like this? Right in the middle of the forest, when we most need it?” Panic was suffocating him, stealing his ability to breathe, and Hannibal grabbed his shoulders, shaking him roughly._

_“Trust me,” he whispered. “Will. Trust me. I wouldn’t suggest anything if I thought there was even a small chance of us being in danger here. But I recognize this house.”_

_The confidence in Hannibal’s eyes affected his turmoil, soothing it, and Will felt embarrassed._

_What the hell was going on with him?_

_Upset and annoyed with himself, he asked, “How can you possibly recognize this house?”_

_“It was a part of one of the arenas. A long time ago, during one of the first Games. Do you remember? The rules had been different then, and there were several places like this house on the arena. The top tributes always chose it as their base, and some of the most violent fights happened there. If I’m not mistaken, that arena was in the form of a labyrinth, and sometimes even allies couldn’t find each other.”_

_“Where do you get all this?” Will asked after a pause. It was too good to be actually true. “The first Games started more than eighty years ago, you couldn’t have seen them.”_

_Hannibal_ _sighed._

_“Really, Will, you should have paid more attention to your District,” he murmured. “The repeat of all Games was being shown every year. Did you honestly never watch them?”_

_“Why would I do that? The obligatory broadcast was more than enough for me. Though I guess I’m not surprised that you watched them all,” Will laughed shortly, shaking his head in amazement. “So you think we are in one of the old arenas right now?”_

_“Yes. I definitely remember this house.” Hannibal approached it, checking it from several sides before nodding in satisfaction. When he turned to Will again, his eyes were shining._

_“Welcome to our new home,” he murmured, and some tight knot within Will’s chest, the one that had been keeping him restless all this time, finally loosened._

This forest belonged to them, and only fish and birds were witnesses to the daily craziness that took place here.

Hannibal was busy covering him with kisses — his eyes, his nose, his lips, his neck, making Will arch in his arms and almost purr.

Knowing that Hannibal was a hopeless romantic who would spend hours on simple kissing, Will grabbed his shirt and pulled it off, earning a dissatisfied grumble. The desire welled up within him, hot and insistent, and as Hannibal continued to lavish his neck with attention, Will jerked him by the hair again, knowing how much Hannibal loved and hated it. Seeing dark, hungry stare, he hissed, “Fuck me.”

Hannibal’s eyes flashed. This time, when he touched his neck, it was to bite it, and Will cursed and moaned, loving every second of it.

_The process of adaptation wasn’t easy. When Will realized that they were indeed free, and that more freedom waited for them in the future, he grew restless. A dark part of his mind that had been seeking death was angry at him for surviving, and nothing could stop it from sending him terrifying images of what could have happened._

_Nothing but Hannibal._

_His murmured words, his strong hands, his unbreakable confidence always managed to distract Will’s self-destructive side for a while. Hannibal knew when to be gentle, and he knew when to be aggressive and demanding, forcefully bending him over and fucking any suicidal thought out of him._

The sharp pain of being entered made Will cry out, and he laughed immediately afterward, feeling overjoyed and alive, so alive. Hard, powerful body against his, hands that kept pressing bruises into his thighs, beloved voice that lost all its loftiness at these moments. Hannibal’s unrestrained adoration and love had never been more palpable than when they were intertwined like this, with nothing separating them.

Anxiety, fear, worry — all disappeared for Will, leaving only primitive, brainless desire to rage inside.

_Hannibal_ _still had nightmares. Sometimes he woke up terrified, clutching Will so tightly that even breathing hurt. They never talked about it, but Will heard Hannibal call his name in his sleep, pleading and uncharacteristically desperate. He didn’t need details — he could imagine enough, and Hannibal refused to discuss it._

_They had fights. Rarely, almost never as the time went by, but Hannibal couldn’t sit idly, and there was no one for him to kill to burn his aggression and violence away. Will, on the other hand, had easily found his river, full of salt and full of fish. Constructing fishing rods was not difficult, since the house hid plenty of useful things, so Will eagerly assumed the role of provider for them, catching fish for breakfast, lunch, and dinner._

_Hannibal_ _hated it. There were times where he refused to even look at the fish, and when he stared at him, Will felt the madness coiling within him, ready to strike, to torture, to destroy._

_No animals lived nearby, so Hannibal decided to go and explore the forest._

_It was Will’s turn to rage and scream, because the thought of Hannibal disappearing in the unknown territory and losing his way was enough to push his own madness to the surface. The terrifying scenarios returned, filling his head with all kinds of horrors, and even sex couldn’t do much to calm him down._

_In the end, they reached a compromise. There were still numerous, strange red buttons in Will’s battered backpack, the ones he had collected on the arena, and Hannibal swore to mark his path with these buttons and return as soon as their supply ended, regardless of what was lying ahead._ _Also, a_ s _mall object in Will’s bag, which he had completely forgotten about, was a strange musical device. It let out a weird, melodic whistle, and it could be heard from a considerable distance, so whenever Hannibal was approaching, he gave him a warning._

_It didn’t completely chase away Will’s anxiety, but it did soothe his insecurities to an extent. It was enough, and it was worth it when Hannibal came back practically glowing, in blood-stained clothes, and with dead boar as a present._

_Hannibal_ _went on his hunt several times a month. Sometimes Will went with him, and the roar of blood and adrenaline was as thrilling and lovely as he’d remembered._

_The clothes were a problem. Will refused to walk around naked, much to Hannibal’s amusement, and both he and Hannibal had no idea how to make clothes out of fur._

_Until winter forced them to learn it._

As soon as Will felt the impending orgasm, Hannibal slowed his thrusts, biting through his skin and laughing whenever Will cursed in frustration. Then he increased the pace, and repeated it over and over again, until Will started to almost wail. Violent pleasure tore through him, and Hannibal fucked him through his orgasm, following him soon, gasping and squeezing his shoulders painfully.

Afterward, they were lying quietly, listening to the birds sing, with Will stroking Hannibal’s hair in apology for pulling too tight.

_A lot of times, at night, when Will_ _started to drift off, he felt Hannibal cover him with a self-made blanket, snuggle closer, and whisper, ‘I love you’. The answering words still felt awkward on Will’s tongue, but he uttered them occasionally, blushing and averting his gaze, letting laughing Hannibal pull him closer and kiss him almost to death._

They were happy. Fear still haunted Will when he thought about the Games, but these memories surfaced more and more rarely. He was tentatively releasing all bitter reservations that plagued him, and Hannibal was there when he couldn’t, when memories and masochistic imagination attempted to suck him back in. He was there, and Will needed nothing and no one else.

Now, watching Hannibal squint against the sun lazily, he felt steady happiness warming his chest.

These days, he had no reason to count. There were no situations for which he had to prepare himself, because his and Hannibal’s existence had turned into the never-ending stream of happiness, with the lack of angry boar being their biggest problem.

He and Hannibal. Together.

Nothing else mattered.

 

_The end_

   

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the ending. I've already started writing another Hannibal/Will multi-chaptered story, and a shorter Nigel (Mads' violent criminal of a character) / Adam (Hugh's angelic character) one. Seeing you there will be a delight!


	13. Bonus Chapter: The Games through the eyes of a Gamekeeper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bonus chapter inspired by the reader Aoi who suggested writing about the events of the Games through the Gamekeepers' eyes :D I hope you'll enjoy it! It has spoilers for the entire story and a scene that takes place around/after the epilogue.

 

When Sheldon Isley saw this year’s male tribute from District Three, a sting of nervousness pierced him. 

As the head of the Gamekeepers, he had seen all sorts of people throughout the years. Vicious, uncontrollably violent, bloodthirsty. He’d seen creeps like Mason Verger from District One. He’d seen Ice Queens like Bedelia Du Maurier from District Three. But her male counterpart…

Hannibal Lecter. Sheldon couldn’t say what it was about him that triggered this gloomy feeling in him... He would like to deny it, but while he was many things, a liar wasn’t one of them.

He found Hannibal Lecter alarming. Disturbingly so, from his narrowed eyes to the posture that no human being should have. It was predatory, dangerous, and Sheldon shivered before quickly glancing around the room, to make sure no one saw him.

The Ceremony went on, and soon, he relaxed. The rest of the tributes fell into predictable and familiar categories. Pathetic creatures like Froideveaux and Chilton. Mindlessly violent participants like Dolarhyde, Tier, and Boyle brother and sister. Non-entities like Hobbs, Belles, and Madchen, and pretty tributes like slender-looking Bloom and wide-eyed Graham. The rest didn’t deserve attention either, so Sheldon relaxed and snapped his fingers, signaling that he’d like a refill.

The worry retreated, but didn’t disappear. Not entirely.

 

 

***

 

 

When he learned that Graham attacked Verger, Sheldon had to admit he was surprised. The boy wasn’t among those who he thought would spill the blood first, but then again, he was probably just protecting his blind ally. Young love and all that. Boring.25

Training sessions started, and his confusion began to grow.

Lecter was dangerous all right. Sheldon saw enough of him to understand it. He didn’t do anything extraordinary — threw some axes, some knives, unnerved other tributes by watching them with a small, amused smirk on his face… but there _was_ something about him. Something that almost made Sheldon freeze with terror. He saw how Lecter moved, once, with supernatural speed that made his blood run cold. He saw how he watched the cameras, as if knowing exactly where each one was.

Humans weren’t supposed to be like this. Especially of this age.

Then Lecter attached himself to Graham, and Sheldon stopped understanding anything.

This was the craziest alliance he had ever seen. What could possibly attract Lecter in Graham? The boy was an idiot. A weakling. All he did was fish all day long, not even trying to learn something. And yet — Lecter could not take his eyes off him. He stalked him, stood by him, and even tried fishing with him. Was this really the best thing he could find? Or was he just amusing himself?

Sheldon hoped for the latter. He was a practical man and he liked practical things. Understandable things.

When Lecter killed his Brokens in that inhumane, terrible way, Sheldon felt fear. For the first time of his being a Gamekeeper.

Of course rumors had to be true. Of course Lecter had to be a cannibal, as if he wasn’t terrifying enough already.

Their President loved cannibals. They were a rarity and they could spice things up on the arena. Sheldon used to think the same, but with Lecter… something was stopping him from being careless. A dark foreboding that whispered to him, that warned him that Lecter was dangerous. Perhaps too dangerous.

When Peter died, Sheldon removed ‘perhaps’ from equation. His fear intensified, pressing against his lungs, not letting him breathe properly when he stared at what Lecter had done.

_He killed him. He killed one of us_.

And he remained unpunished. There was no physical evidence that would prove Lecter’s fault, but Sheldon and everyone else knew it was him. President Brown knew it, too. But, unlike Sheldon, he was thrilled.

“He did it for that pretty boy, didn’t he?” Brown asked, excited. “And he covered his tracks. Neat.”

Pretty boy. A boy that had claws. Sheldon stumbled upon Graham once, recently, in the corridor. They were only the two of them, and when he looked up, he saw darkness in Graham’s eyes.

Darkness. And fury.

Directed at him. At the Games.

But it was not the righteous kind of fury he was used to seeing. No, this fury was cold. This fury reeked of cruelty.

Maybe Lecter wasn’t an idiot for choosing Graham, after all.

“He must be removed from the Games,” he said aloud, hoping against hope that Brown would listen. “We can’t allow something like this. If tributes think they are untouchable until they arrive at the arena, if they think they can just kill us off—”

“Peter had to be more careful,” Brown replied indifferently.

“You saw what Lecter has done to him,” to his deepest unease, Sheldon realized his voice was shaking. “He tortured him. He mutilated him. He has torn his eyes and his tongue out, for God’s sake — or whatever the hell he’s done to them! It’s a challenge — he’s challenging us!”

“Nah,” Brown drawled. “He’s just protecting what he considers his. Will Graham. An interesting boy, don’t you think? He has some potential.”

It was hopeless to argue, so Sheldon shut up. But when he saw Lecter the next time, he thought, ‘ _Good luck on the arena, boy. I’ll make sure you fall first_.’  

Lecter didn’t. He survived the first clash, and with the new Gamekeeper assigned by President Brown as his helper, Sheldon couldn’t downright organize a trap.

He watched how Lecter united with Graham. He watched how they killed — or rather, how Graham danced around killing while Lecter killed without hesitation. He watched how they kissed.

The majority of viewers were awed. Sheldon was disturbed.

It wasn’t going to end good. He knew it.

He watched Lecter manipulate the blind girl into killing herself. Sheldon rejoiced, thinking that Graham wouldn’t stand for it. That their alliance would fall and Lecter would be forced to kill Graham, and without being a part of this crazy, bloody romance, the viewers, and Brown, would lose interest in him. And then Sheldon would act.

It didn’t happen like he had hoped it would. When Graham started the screaming match and tried to get away, Lecter wrapped his hands around his throat, and Sheldon leaned forward to see as much as he physically could, his heart jerking in his chest in excitement.

But Lecter loosened his grip too quickly, holding Graham long enough to render him unconscious, not long enough to kill. Frozen, Sheldon watched how Lecter cradled him in his arms and nuzzled his face, like some kind of animal, murmuring his name again and again, as if it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. 

The monster was in love. He was in love, and for a short ridiculous second Sheldon actually believed that Lecter knew something none of them did. That he knew how to win and how to take Graham with him — how to escape the Games.

It wasn’t possible, of course. Maybe he was just stressed. As soon as these Games ended, Sheldon was going to take a long, nice vacation, far away from here.

There was a slight hope that Graham wasn’t going to accept Lecter, especially after that chokehold, but Sheldon didn’t let himself buy into it this time.

Good for him. Graham was all big words when leaving, but as soon as he realized Lecter was in danger, he flew right back — and there was no dancing now. Now, he moved to kill.

Watching these two bloody psychopaths jumping each other in disgust, Sheldon decided that he’d had enough. If he couldn’t get rid of them now, he could try and shift the audience’s attention to another couple that was gaining popularity, Crawford and Belles.

For a while, it worked. Sort of. Crawford and Belles’ ratings were rising, and though Lecter and Graham remained on top, Sheldon felt a stirring of hope. With right sponsors, Crawford could become a powerful player against Lecter, and with Du Maurier longing for Graham’s blood, Sheldon could make sure that no cannibals entered the finale.

The fact that Lecter was considering to kill Graham was a nice surprise that put Sheldon in an excellent mood. Now this was a gift he hadn’t expected. All his fears evaporated instantly, replaced by a giddy realization that he had overestimated Lecter.

Lecter was a child. Creepy as hell, monstrous, but still a child. Of course he didn’t know how to deal with the Games. Well, he did, but he had no backup plan, no special insight. Lecter could be infatuated with Graham, but he wanted victory, and to get it, he knew he would have to kill everyone else.

Sheldon was almost embarrassed now, recalling his previous thoughts and worries. Lecter, as some powerful, all-knowing being? Please. He was a tribute like everyone else.   

But days kept passing and Graham remained alive. Every night Lecter crawled to him with a clear intention to kill him, and every time he backed away. The lost, confused look in his eyes was almost funny, but Sheldon was too nervous to laugh now.

Unknowingly, Lecter was doing everything to ensure that he and Graham remained the viewers’ favorites. He was beautiful in his agony over having to choose, hitting all the right buttons without even trying. The fact that Graham learned about it and remained silent didn’t even shock Sheldon as much as it would have before. These two were absolutely crazy and he had given up on any attempts to understand them.

Watching how they killed Chilton, he felt nauseous. It felt like these two had been working together for years — Graham sang his sweet lies to their victim while Lecter ripped him apart, smoothly and quickly, to the point where Chilton probably didn’t even realize what was happening.

So different yet so similar. And so equally terrifying.

They had to die. As soon as possible.

It was time to try something again.

That night, Sheldon disclosed the location of all remaining tributes, letting all players see where the others were. Belles was dying and Crawford was ready to do anything to save her, and the fact that he needed Lecter for it was a gift from heaven. Now, knowing his location, he would be able to find him quickly, and maybe then, Sheldon’s worries would be over.

This same night, Sheldon didn’t go home, even though it was supposed to be his break. Instead, he went to the Tributes’ Support Center and donated quite a large sum of money for Crawford, specifying that he wishes this donation to be anonymous.

He had never supported any tribute before. Technically, it was against the rules, so Sheldon hoped President Brown would never learn of it, and that Crawford’s mentor would know what to do.

He did. Crawford received a tranquilizer, and Sheldon couldn’t fight a silly grin that blossomed on his face.

Lecter and Graham’s days were numbered.

The next day, Graham decided to fish with his bare hands in a small lake, Lecter watched him like a lovesick idiot, and their mentors united and sent them a desalination tool.

Sheldon wasn’t sure what to think of it. It was either the most ridiculous or the most useful gift ever provided. It must have cost a fortune, but what use did it have? There were rivers and lakes with drinking water on the arena.

Did those wretched mentors know something Sheldon didn’t?

He was getting paranoid. Foolish.

He never wished for the Games to be over with such passion.

Watching Lecter hover over Graham protectively was turning his stomach. That man murdered others brutally, ended lives without blinking, with coldness that was unnatural, yet whenever Graham disappeared underwater, he tensed and watched the surface with troubled eyes, as if fearing that his precious treasure would drown. He sighed in obvious relief when the boy reappeared, and it didn’t take him even a second to catch him and wrap him in warm clothes when Graham finally came out shivering from cold.

How could a monster be capable of such tenderness? His displays of affection were as repulsive as the way he killed.

At this point, all Sheldon wanted was to forget about the world and sleep for several days, but he forced himself to keep watch that night — and was rewarded as several crucial things happened.

Crawford nearly reached Lecter and Graham. Lecter fell asleep. And Graham abandoned him.

Abandoned him to go looking for Tier — or rather, for death.

How noble. In any other situation, Sheldon would have sneered, but he was too excited for it now because this, _this_ had to be the ending. Graham had little chances against Tier, especially since he decided to sacrifice himself and let Lecter win. He was going to die, Lecter would probably be disturbed for a while, and it would lower his defenses, letting Crawford kill him.

Maybe _today_ would finally become the day when…  

Graham was good. Better than Sheldon had thought. Now that he had chosen to die, he had nothing to lose, so he was fighting with eagerness that Sheldon could appreciate, but which he could never understand. Graham’s eyes were bright and glowing with excitement — the eyes of a hunter, not of a victim. He crouched like an animal, watching Tier with burning anticipation, and then attacked him, laughing like a lunatic.

“Just fucking die already!” Sheldon snarled, feeling how every hair on his body stood up in a sudden primal burst of terror. He could feel his colleagues’ eyes on him, but didn’t dare to look away from the screen.

To top it all, Lecter woke up. By the time Sheldon thought to check on him, Lecter was already running, crossing the distance at the speed that was barely human, his face ashen, delightfully scared. Sheldon drank his terrified expression in, reveling in it, and when Lecter bellowed Graham’s name, he could swear a shiver of pleasure tore through him.

Lecter in anguish. Graham who was one step from death — distracted by Lecter’s call, he had missed Tier’s move, and sharp claws tore right into his face. He screamed — and Lecter answered in an echoing scream, probably understanding what Sheldon understood.

It was too late. There was no chance he could make it to the scene to help. Any moment now, Graham was going to die, and the most powerful alliance on the arena would be broken.

Sheldon licked his lips in anticipation, leaning forward, but what he saw on the screen made him freeze.

It seemed like Lecter’s proximity made Graham want to live again. He attacked Tier with rapid force, ignoring his wound, and several seconds later, a gunshot sounded.

The way Lecter cried out, undoubtedly sure that Graham had been killed, wasn’t enough to mollify Sheldon’s growing ire.

It was like the universe itself had decided to help these two. There was no other explanation. The Games couldn’t have two winners, but he still felt that ridiculous, irrational thought that Lecter and Graham knew something no one else did. Somehow, they were going to spoil everything and make the fools out of their audience, and Sheldon’s inability to change it was maddening.

Gritting his teeth in silent fury, he watched how Lecter and Graham reunited once again, exchanging soft murmurs and sickening affection. Disgusted, he looked away, and perked up when he realized that Crawford had used the noise to finally locate Lecter and Graham.

Suddenly hopeful, Sheldon watched how Lecter left to collect their things, leaving Graham unprotected, and how Graham closed his eyes, probably already daydreaming about the distasteful activities he and his cannibal tended to engage in daily.

This was when Crawford decided to strike.

 Sheldon couldn’t deny it — he was intensely curious in Crawford’s plan. His hope that Lecter would be able to save his girlfriend was foolish at best, but the end-goal wasn’t as important as the ways that Crawford planned to use to achieve it. If it meant killing Graham off, Sheldon was more than supportive.   

Intrigued, he watched how Crawford threw Graham’s unconscious body to the ground and then stopped next to it, watching the forest carefully. He waited, and Sheldon waited with him, barely holding himself from drumming his fingers against the table.

One minute. Two. Three.

One. Two. Three.

A gasp tore through the silence, immediately attracting Crawford’s and Sheldon’s attention.

Lecter had arrived, and right now he was staring at Graham’s body in disbelief, wide-eyed, as if unable to comprehend what he was seeing.

How the hell had he managed to come here so quickly? Last time Sheldon checked, he was at least five minutes away.   

Snarling, Lecter threw himself at Crawford, but before he could reach him, Crawford aimed his tranquilizer at him and fired.

Silent, helpless fury in Lecter’s eyes was a sight to behold, and Sheldon grinned crazily, almost rubbing his hands together in glee.

Finally. Finally there was something this bastard couldn’t predict. Finally he was the one who was going to lose. 

“Hey, bring me a drink!” Sheldon demanded, not turning away from the screen. “Something light. With strawberry.”

One of the silent servants hastened to obey, and Sheldon leaned against his chair.

He was genuinely interested in watching the Games now.

At last.

 

 

***

 

 

Fucking Graham.

That was the only thought that Sheldon had now.

That insignificant, arrogant, twisted little brat. He refused to die. He refused to give up. Even with his hands tied behind the tree, he kept tugging at the rope repeatedly, tearing his fingers to blood in the process, but still fighting — always fighting. Lecter’s fucking match.

Trying to stay calm, Sheldon was forced to watch how Graham finally freed himself and immediately headed toward the clearing where Lecter and Crawford were waiting. Well, Crawford was waiting — Lecter was still out of it, and if before, Sheldon would cheer for him to stay this way, now he was ready to slap him and order him to fucking wake up. Graham was coming, and Sheldon doubted he would make the same mistake as Lecter. The boy was stealthy and quiet when he wanted to be, and if he managed to take Crawford aback now, all the efforts would be wasted.

“Sheldon! President Brown wants to see you.”

Blinking, Sheldon turned to look at his new assistant, clutching his half-finished drink in his hand.

“Brown?” he repeated stupidly. It was difficult to tear his thoughts away from the arena, from the precarious situation that was developing there. “Now?”

“Yeah. Don’t worry, I’ll watch your favorites for you,” Soliato smiled at him, that sleazy, arrogant smile that Sheldon came to hate.

Huffing, he stood up and stormed from the room, knowing that his face was burning.

Despite his efforts, everyone seemed to know about his utter disgust toward Lecter and Graham. Everyone thought he was being a weakling and laughed at him behind his back, and Soliato had the gall to do that in his face.

Idiots. All of them. How could Sheldon explain that dark, ugly feeling that raised its head whenever he looked at Lecter and Graham? How could he describe the premonition he felt, his gloomy certainty that something was about to change — to change drastically.

These people could laugh at him, but it was Sheldon who had been working here in the time when these green men and women had just been born. They were learning how to speak when he was coming up with the most creative and torturous ways of death for the tributes. If he felt that something was going to go wrong, then he was right, and the fact that no one else could see it was a disaster in the making.

And Brown… what did he want now? He had to listen to Sheldon’s advice and eliminate Lecter when he still had a chance, after Peter’s murder. Fury still burned through him when Sheldon remembered how recklessly and easily the President had dismissed him, discarding his worries as not worthy of the basic consideration.

When he entered, Brown was sitting in his huge armchair, nodding his head to something that Sheldon couldn’t hear.

“You wished to speak to me?” Sheldon asked politely, and his President’s eyes focused on him.

“Sheldon,” he drawled. “Yes, do come in. Take a seat, take a drink — be my guest.”

Sheldon lowered himself onto the smaller chair, waiting for Brown to speak, but as the minutes passed by silently, his patience broke.

“Was there anything urgent, sir?” he muttered. “With all respect, I have to go back to the screens. We might be reaching the culmination here…”

“Oh, I know,” Brown assured him. “I’ve seen it. I also know that you made a contribution to the benefit of Jack Crawford — really, Sheldon? This is who you are rooting for?”

Damn it all to hell. How did he know?

Stupid question. The President knew everything.

“I’m afraid we have few sane tributes this year,” Sheldon said warily. “And as the winner has to interact with the public afterward, I thought it prudent to—”

“You think Lecter wouldn’t be able to interact with the audience properly? Seriously?”

“He is insane,” Sheldon hissed. His anxiety wrapped its poisonous self around his ribcage, and he tried to breathe deeply to calm down. “He might be charming, but he’s insane,” he insisted. “He has no respect for law. For _us_. Lecter cannot win.”

“Seems like he can, considering all your fruitless efforts to thwart him,” Brown noted coldly. “However, I myself would not want to see him as a winner. No, I’m favoring Graham.”

“Graham!” Sheldon almost choked, and flushed when Brown smirked at him.

“Yes. Graham,” he repeated slowly. “I like that boy. Lecter is interesting, too, but I’ve seen darkness like his before. Graham, on the other hand, is a rather unique individual. I’m genuinely curious what would become of him if he were to win."  

“Graham wants to live only as long as he has Lecter by his side,” Sheldon scoffed. “That boy is not strong enough. You must have seen him — he wanted to die just to please Lecter. If there are the two of them left, Graham will either let Lecter kill him or he will kill himself. He doesn’t want victory.”

“Well, then we have to make sure that he still gets it,” Brown’s lips stretched in a huge smile, but his eyes were cold, dead, and Sheldon shivered. “Do you understand what I mean, Sheldon? No more helping Crawford. No more manipulations.”

“You want me to let the Games develop naturally?” Sheldon asked incredulously, and Brown grimaced.

“Of course not,” he said. “However, everything you do must be for Graham’s benefit. Please keep this in mind — because I will be watching.”

Sick. Their President was sick. It was official now.

Trembling with fury, Sheldon left, going back to his workroom, hearing the threat that hadn’t sounded, but which was still echoing loudly in his head.

Brown wanted Graham’s victory.

Honestly, it was easier to make Lecter into a winner.

How do you help the person who wants to live only under specific circumstances?  

 

 

***

 

 

Sheldon was trapped. With Brown’s order, his hands were tied now, and all he could do was watch.

Idiot Graham got himself caught — again. This time, it was Bedelia Du Maurier who captured him, and his chances of getting out of this alive were slim at best.

Silently, Sheldon watched how the most powerful players gathered in one place. Du Maurier was holding Graham, Lecter was burning holes in her with his deadly stare, and Crawford was standing motionlessly like a fool he was, lost and confused.

To follow Brown’s order, Sheldon had to take things under his control — immediately. He could draw up a burning tree and throw it at Du Maurier, hoping against hope that Graham would die under it as well, and that it would look like an accident. He could kill Du Maurier in many different ways, but he hesitated, prolonging the moment, wanting to see how it would play out by itself.

The second Du Maurier broke Graham’s arm, Sheldon knew her game was over. Lecter was standing frozen for now, too scared to move and result in Graham getting even more hurt, but if Du Maurier didn’t stop, then he would forget everything and he would lunge at her — and she would die. Because Du Maurier was strong, but Lecter was stronger.

Just as Sheldon predicted, Du Maurier foolishly snapped another part of Graham’s arm. However, to his surprise, it was Graham who reacted first. Screaming in pain, he still kicked her viciously, then kicked her again, and when she stumbled, as surprised as Sheldon, Lecter attacked.

Sheldon had no desire to watch this freak show. Instead, he rubbed his eyes tiredly, knowing very well who would emerge victorious here.

Lecter was killing Du Maurier with the brutal force he possessed while Graham began to fill Crawford with his sweet, poisonous words. Was this what attracted Brown so much? The boy was a talker, that was true, but only weak-minded idiots could fall for it. Sheldon never thought that their President would be one of them.

“They are going to win, aren’t they?” Soliato murmured in reluctant admiration, and Sheldon growled, glaring at him.

“There cannot be two winners, you fool!” he spat. “So you can bet that at least one of them is going to die!”

Soliato gaped at him, obviously stunned by his explosion, and Sheldon shook his head, feeling so hopeless that for the first time in years, he wanted to cry.

Everything was falling apart. Everything, and Sheldon had no idea who to turn to. Was there at least one rational person left in his surroundings?

The last tributes fell victim to the tandem of Lecter and Graham, and Sheldon watched how they cuddled together, tired and dejected.

Technically, the most interesting part was about to start now. Despite his madness, Brown wasn’t going to change the rules and let two tributes live, so either Lecter or Graham was supposed to off each other. But still, Sheldon couldn’t enjoy it.

He didn’t know how, or why, or when, but the other shoe was going to drop. He was sure of it.

Slowly, feeling strangely detached, Sheldon drained the lakes with the drinking water, pushing the Games to their finale as was required of him. He did feel a weak stab of curiosity at Lecter’s stubborn desire to reach the end of the arena, but he would gladly kill him if Brown gave him permission.

To test the waters, Sheldon called Brown for instructions, and heard just what he’d expected to hear.

He wasn’t to touch Lecter or Graham. He was to wait for them to start fighting, and he was to kill Lecter before Graham could die, if things were to come to this.

“Should we spend the rest of this day together?” Graham asked, his voice deceptively soft and fragile. “Just this day. And night. And then, tomorrow… we will end it.”

“We will,” Lecter said, studying him with an intent gaze, and Sheldon tensed, sensing as if he had missed a big part of their actual conversation.

Something was wrong. Something that he had been worried about since the beginning.

He couldn’t stay still, so he paced, glancing at the screen occasionally, waiting for the morning to come. He let Soliato and everyone else go for the night, so no one was bothering him with mocking looks and sighs.

And still, Sheldon couldn’t relax. He kept circling the room, trying to breathe slowly, counting every breath to stay focused and not succumb to his mindless, irrational panic.

One breath. Two. Three.

He got so lost in himself that he nearly missed the fact that Lecter and Graham started to move. It was almost two in the morning, and they were… changing places?

Confused, Sheldon stopped, staring and trying to calculate what they could be doing. When they approached the cliff, he froze, and his eyes widened in a flash of sudden, belated understanding.

The cliff! The ocean! The end of the arena!

But they wouldn’t… would they? No one could survive falling from such height! And Lecter — Lecter couldn’t swim! Surely they wouldn’t—

Sheldon broke from his stupor, throwing himself to the computer, punching the buttons to deactivate parts of arena and concentrate all the biggest and deadliest trees on the place where Lecter and Graham were standing. Three seconds — he needed three seconds for his command to gain force, to cut Lecter and Graham off the cliff, to make it inapproachable — or to kill them both, under this huge pile. Anything, anything to stop them from jumping, because then… then…

One second. Two. Thr—

They jumped. One second they were still standing, and another one, they disappeared — and there were no cameras to show what happened next.

For Sheldon, several next minutes passed in silence. He was staring at the screen numbly, as if still hoping to see something. He stared, and stared, and stared… and then, slowly, he stood up, and turned on the alarm.

He felt like each of its howls was counting the remaining days of his life.

 

 

***

 

 

He had one short conversation with Brown. It didn’t take even five minutes.

“You let Soliato leave for the night,” Brown said calmly. “Why? Knowing that it was the finale.”

“I thought I could handle it,” Sheldon said blandly. A part of him felt like screaming — screaming that he had warned Brown about it from the start, that it wasn’t his fault, that if not for Brown’s insane idea to toy with Lecter and Graham, none of it would have happened.

But it wasn’t entirely true. He had indeed let Lecter and Graham escape. In his incredulous stupor, he had been three seconds late, and these seconds meant everything.

“You thought you could handle it,” Brown repeated thoughtfully. “I like confident men, Sheldon. That is why I always liked you. But I have to say that now… I am disappointed in you.”

Sheldon knew it, but he still flinched, feeling an almost physical impact of these words.

“You were scared from the beginning of this round of Games,” Brown continued softly. “You were so scared that you let your personal feelings cloud your judgment. You became inattentive, and if there is anything I hate, it’s inattentiveness, Sheldon. We could have such a beautiful finale. Will Graham screaming over the dead body of his boyfriend. Fireworks. Applause. A beautiful crown for a reluctant winner. But you, and your hurting ego that made you let Soliato go for the night, to suffer in proud silence… you and your inability to react on time… do you see where it has led us? Lecter and Graham are on the run. Perhaps dead, perhaps not. Currently, we cannot find them because if they escaped, they have entered the cemetery of all previous arenas. There are hundreds and hundreds of acres there. Districts are revolting. The citizens of our capital are severely disappointed in us. And you know what, Sheldon? I think you should be punished. I want to punish you very much. And in fact… I have already found a perfect punishment,” Brown’s familiarly crazed grin twisted his face, turning it into an ugly, scary mask.

Sheldon stayed silent.

He didn’t have the strength to ask.

 

 

***

 

 

Several hours later, he was abandoned in the endless forest near the ocean, where Lecter and Graham had allegedly escaped, with a small backpack as his only company.

He watched quietly how the helicopter flew away, and only then did he allow himself to check his belongings.

A big bottle of water. A small knife. Several cookies and a bag of chips.

How generous.

His lips trembled bitterly, and Sheldon closed his eyes, fighting yet another urge to scream.

He had no idea what Brown wanted to say with this. Was he supposed to look for Lecter and Graham, somehow defeat them, and bring back their bodies?

No. Way. In hell.

If they were dead, though… if they had drown…

But wouldn’t Brown’s people have found their bodies by now?

How long would he be able to hold on here? Several days. Then the water would end, and without desalination tool…

Lecter and Graham had one. If he could find it…

Sheldon immediately discarded this thought. Breathing in deeply, he glanced at the sky, trying to estimate where north was, and then, giving up, he walked right into the forest.

He needed to do everything in his power to find a lake now. Or a small river. He had no idea how to hunt, but years spent on organizing and watching the Games could prove to be beneficial in this regard. Without water, though, he stood no chances at all.

Maybe… if he found water, maybe he could live like this. At least for some time.

Maybe Brown would change his mind later.

Yes, this was what he would be hoping for.

This was what he would wait for.

 

 

***

 

 

Sheldon tried to count the days he spent in this terrible, wild place, but eventually, they all became a blur. He had lost almost half of his weight, his limbs were shaking with effort whenever he tried to build a strong shelter, and dark, thick despair was killing the last bits of hope in him.

He hated this place. He _hated_ it. He was slowly dying here, and the mere thought of it seemed crazy. Surely he couldn’t die like this? He was… a respectable man. An important man. He couldn’t just… stop to exist. His punishment would be lifted one day, right? And President Brown would send his people to retrieve him.

For this reason, Sheldon tried to stay in one place, in order to be found easier, but the tiny lake he had found started to lack water soon, and he was forced to move to another one. And so on, and on, and on.

He stopped counting how many lakes he had drained. They were all small, artificial, and the absurd feeling of hatred whirling in him was aimed at himself first and foremost.  

Couldn’t he have created bigger lakes? What the hell had he been thinking?

How could he ever been so stupid? Fearing Lecter, fearing Graham… these children posed no threat to him. No threat until Sheldon let his fears cloud his mind — just like Brown had said. All because of some stupid fucking premonition that was meaningless, that had ruined his life — all because he had let it happen.

Days and nights changed into each other so quickly that Sheldon stopped being able to tell them apart. Sometimes, he thought that he noticed the signs of someone else being alive here, someone apart from him — there were weird signs on the trees and on the ground, as if someone was marking their tracks. Sheldon’s mind was working slowly at this point, so he didn’t even have any suggestions. He only knew that some other people might be here — those sent by Brown, maybe? What if they were looking for him?

“Hey!” Sheldon called out. His voice sounded hoarse, foreign, and too loud — he jerked in fear, scared of himself. “Hey!” he called again, more quietly this time. “I’m here. Does anyone hear me?”

Silence was his only answer, his only companion. Shivering and rubbing his burning eyes, Sheldon continued to walk aimlessly, trying to remember what he was looking for. Water… he needed water. Yes, water. He had to drink.

But there was an ocean he could drink from, wasn’t it?

Frowning, Sheldon turned.

He spent the next several days walking to where he thought he had last seen the ocean, but he found nothing. Even the mysterious tracks disappeared. He still called out at times, hoping that his President would hear him, but there was never any response.

Sometimes Sheldon got sad because of it. Sometimes he got angry.

Sometimes he cried. His eyes burned terribly after this, so he tried to mutter something soothing to himself. Soon, he realized that he did have one friend here — his own voice, and after this, he spoke to himself nonstop. One day, he felt so hungry that he tried to eat grass. It was bitter and tasted awfully, but he kept chewing it, wincing because his eyes were burning — again.

He was complaining to himself about the taste when he heard a sound — a real sound behind his back. Shocked, Sheldon turned, and dropped the grass he was holding.

Hannibal Lecter’s smiling face stared at him, his teeth glistening like polished skulls. He was holding something that looked like a self-made axe in his hand, and Sheldon frowned, trying to understand what was going on.

His body screamed in terror, but his mind was confused. He blinked, wondering if he should say or do something... to be… polite?

“Did President Brown send you?” Sheldon asked. “For me?”

Lecter curled his lips in derision, and Sheldon felt hurt by it. His eyes burned even more, but then another voice sang, “Of course he did. He sent us to help you.”

Will Graham stepped from behind Lecter’s back, and he looked so ethereally beautiful that Sheldon gaped at him, completely enchanted.

“To… help me?” he repeated.

“Yes,” Graham sat next to him, and Lecter tensed, raising his axe.

“Be careful,” he said. “We still don’t know if it’s a ploy to lure us out.”

“Come on, just look at him. We’ve been watching him for days. He’s a walking and talking corpse, nothing more.”

“Is there someone else here?” Sheldon wondered. Lecter sighed in something that resembled annoyance while Graham reached out and stroked Sheldon’s hair tenderly.

“No,” he murmured. “There is no one but us. You would like to join us, wouldn’t you, Sheldon? Would you like to join us at the table?”

“Yes!” Sheldon breathed out, relieved and happy, so blissfully, utterly happy. Why had he never noticed how beautiful Graham’s voice was? So soothing, so calming. It reminded him of better days — of spring, and the sun, and the garden full of beautiful flowers. President Brown loved flowers, and Sheldon did, too. He especially loved…

There was a strange whistle. Quick agonizing pain. Lecter’s and Graham’s smiling faces…

And then nothing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Also, huge thanks to amazing lisabart who has started translating this story into Chinese - it's such an honor for me!


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